sight filled us with horror, and Jesus calls us that He may look
upon us at leisure. He wills to see us; He comes, and with Him
come the other two Persons of the Adorable Trinity to take
possession of our soul.
Our Lord had promised this, when, with unspeakable tenderness, He
had said of old: "If anyone love Me he will keep My word, and My
Father will love him, and We will come to him, and will make Our
abode with him."[44] To keep the word of Jesus, then, is one
condition of our happiness, the proof of our love for Him; and
this word seems to me to be His very Self, for He calls Himself
the Uncreated _Word_ of the Father.
In the same Gospel of St. John He makes the sublime prayer:
"Sanctify them by Thy word, Thy word is truth."[45] And in another
passage Jesus teaches us that He is "the Way and the Truth and the
Life."[46] We know, then, what is this word which must be kept; we
cannot say, like Pilate: "What is truth?"[47] We possess the
Truth, for our Beloved dwells in our hearts.
Often _this Beloved is to us a bundle of myrrh._[48] We share the
chalice of His sufferings; but how sweet it will be to us one day
to hear these gentle words: "You are they who have continued with
Me in My temptations, and I dispose to you, as My Father hath
disposed to Me, a kingdom."[49]
XIX
August 19, 1894.
This is perhaps the last time that I need have recourse to writing
in order to talk to you, my dear little sister. God in His
goodness has granted my dearest wish. Come, and we will suffer
together . . . Then Jesus will take one of us, and the others will
remain in exile yet a little longer. Now, listen well to what I am
going to say: God will never, never separate us; and if I die
before you, do not think that I shall be far away--never shall we
have been more closely united. You must not be grieved at my
childish prophecy. I am not ill, I have an iron constitution; but
the Lord can break iron as if it were clay.
Our dear Father makes his presence felt in a way which touches me
deeply. After a death lasting for five long years, what joy to
find him as he used to be, nay, more a father than ever! How well
he is going to repay you for the care you so generously bestowed
on him! You were his Angel, now he will be yours. He has only been
one month in heaven, and already, through the power of his
intercession, all your plans are succeeding. It is easy for him
now to arrange matters for us, and he has had less to suffer on
Céline's account than he had for his poor little Queen.
For a long time you have been asking me for news about the
noviciate, especially about my work, and now I am going to satisfy
you. In my dealings with the novices I am like a setter on the
scent of game. The rôle gives me much anxiety because it so very
exacting. You shall decide for yourself if this be not the case.
All day long, from morn till night, I am in pursuit of game.
Mother Prioress and the Novice Mistress play the part of
sportsmen--but sportsmen are too big to be creeping through the
cover, whereas a little dog can push its way in anywhere . . . and
then its scent is so keen! I keep a close watch upon my little
rabbits; I do not want to do them any harm, but I tell them
gently: "You must keep your fur glossy, and must not look
foolishly about as does a rabbit of the warren." In fact, I try to
make them such as the Hunter of Souls would have them, simple
little creatures that go on browsing heedless of everything else.
I laugh now, but seriously I am quite convinced that one of these
rabbits--you know which one I mean--is worth a hundred times more
than the setter; it has run through many a danger, and I own that,
had I been in its place, I should have long since been lost for
ever in the great forest of the world.
XX
I am so glad, dearest Céline, that you do not feel any particular
attraction at the thought of entering the Carmel. This is really a
mark of Our Lord's favour, and shows that He looks for a gift from
your hands. He knows that it is so much sweeter to give than to
receive. What happiness to suffer for Him Who loves us even unto
folly, and to pass for fools in the eyes of the world! We judge
others by ourselves, and, as the world will not hearken to reason,
it calls us unreasonable too.
We may console ourselves, we are not the first. Folly was the only
crime with which Herod could reproach Our Lord . . . and, after
all, Herod was right. Yes, indeed, it was folly to come and seek
the poor hearts of mortal men to make them thrones for Him, the
King of Glory, Who sitteth above the Cherubim! Was He not
supremely happy in the company of His Father and the Holy Spirit
of Love? Why, then, come down on earth to seek sinners and make of
them His closest friends? Nay, our folly could never exceed His,
and our deeds are quite within the bounds of reason. The world may
leave us alone. I repeat, it is the world that is _insane,_
because it heeds not what Jesus has done and suffered to save it
from eternal damnation.
We are neither idlers nor spendthrifts. Our Divine Master has
taken our defence upon Himself. Remember the scene in the house of
Lazarus: Martha was serving, while Mary had no thought of food but
only of how she could please her Beloved. And "she broke her
alabaster box, and poured out upon her Saviour's Head the precious
spikenard,[50] and the house was filled with the odour of the
ointment."[51]
The Apostles murmured against Magdalen. This still happens, for so
do men murmur against us. Even some fervent Catholics think our
ways are exaggerated, and that--with Martha--we ought to wait upon
Jesus, instead of pouring out on Him the odorous ointment of our
lives. Yet what does it matter if these ointment-jars--our
lives--be broken, since Our Lord is consoled, and the world in
spite of itself is forced to inhale the perfumes they give forth?
It has much need of these perfumes to purify the unwholesome air
it breathes.
For a while only, good-bye, dearest sister. Your barque is near to
port. The breezes filling its sails are the zephyrs of
Love--breezes that speed more swiftly than the lightning-flash.
Good-bye! in a few days we shall be together within these Carmel
walls . . . and in the after days together in Paradise. Did not
Jesus say during His Passion: "Hereafter you shall see the Son of
Man sitting on the right hand of the power of God and coming in
the clouds of heaven"?[52] . . . We shall be there!
THÉRÈSE.
_____________________________
[1] Matt. 3:10.
[2] Matt. 5:48.
[3] Apoc. 21:4.
[4] St. John of the Cross.
[5] Mme. Swetchine.
[6] Exodus 4:25.
[7] I Cor. 7:31.
[8] Cf. Ps. 136:2.
[9] Cf. Ps. 136:1, 4.
[10] I Cor. 2:9.
[11] It is remarkable that Soeur Thérèse applied this name to her
sister Céline, who, under her inspiration, was later to reproduce
so faithfully the true likeness of Our Lord, from the Holy Winding
Sheet of Turin. [Ed.] [Remainder of long footnote, discussing this
likeness, its reproduction, and related matters, omitted from this
electronic edition.]
[12] Isa. 63:3.
[13] Cf. Isa. 63:5.
[14] Isa. 53:3.
[15] Cant. 5:2.
[16] Is. 53:4.
[17] Soeur Thérèse received the veil on September 24, 1890.
[18] St. John of the Cross: _The Night of the Soul,_ 8th stanza.
[19] John 4:35.
[20] Matt. 9:37, 38.
[21] St. John of the Cross.
[22] Luke 19:5.
[23] John 1:38.
[24] Luke 9:58.
[25] Cant. 2:1.
[26] Malachias 4:2.
[27] Matt. 26:23.
[28] Matt. 25:34-36.
[29] _Imit.,_ Bk. I, ch. ii. 3.
[30] _Ib.,_ Bk. II, ch. xi. 4.
[31] _Ib.,_ Bk. III, ch. xlix. 7.
[32] Ps. 126[127]:1.
[33] St. John of the Cross.
[34] Cf. Luke 15:31.
[35] Cant. 1:6.
[36] Cf. Cant. 7:1.
[37] Office of St. Cecilia.
[38] Luke 2:14.
[39] Wisdom 4:1.
[40] John 21:5.
[41] Luke 5:5. Soeur Thérèse joins in one the two miraculous
draughts of fishes. [Ed.]
[42] Cf. Cant. 6:10, 11.
[43] Cant. 6:12.
[44] John 14:23.
[45] Cf. John 17:17.
[46] John 14:6.
[47] John 18:38.
[48] Cf. Cant. 1:12.
[49] Luke 22:28, 29.
[50] Cf. Mark 14:3.
[51] John 12:3.
[52] Matt. 26:64.
_____________________________
LETTERS TO MOTHER AGNES OF JESUS
Selections
I
(Written in 1887, shortly before Thérèse entered the Carmel.)
MY DARLING LITTLE MOTHER,--You are right when you tell me that
every cup must contain its drop of gall. I find that trials are a
great help towards detachment from the things of earth: they make
one look higher than this world. Nothing here can satisfy, and we
can find rest only in holding ourselves ready to do God's will.
My frail barque has great difficulty in reaching port. I sighted
it long since, and still I find myself afar off. Yet Jesus steers
this little barque, and I am sure that on His appointed day it
will come safely to the blessed haven of the Carmel. O Pauline!
when Jesus shall have vouchsafed me this grace, I wish to give
myself entirely to Him, to suffer always for Him, to live for Him
alone. I do not fear His rod, for even when the smart is keenest
we feel that it is His sweet Hand which strikes.
It is such joy to think that for each pain cheerfully borne we
shall love God more through eternity. Happy should I be if at the
hour of my death I could offer Jesus a single soul. There would be
one soul less in hell, and one more to bless God in Heaven.
II
(Written during her retreat before receiving the habit.)
January, 1889.
Dryness and drowsiness--such is the state of my soul in its
intercourse with Jesus! But since my Beloved wishes to sleep I
shall not prevent Him. I am only too happy that He does not treat
me as a stranger, but rather in a homely way. He riddles his
"little ball" with pin-pricks that hurt indeed, though when they
come from the Hand of this loving Friend, the pain is all
sweetness, so gentle in His touch. How different the hand of man!
Yet I am happy, most happy to suffer! If Jesus Himself does not
pierce me, He guides the hand which does. Mother! If you knew how
utterly indifferent to earthly things I desire to be, and of how
little concern to me are all the beauties of creation. I should be
wretched were I to possess them. My heart seems so vast when I
think of the goods of earth--all of them together unable to fill
it. But by the side of Jesus how small does it appear! He is full
good to me--this God who soon will be my Spouse. He is divinely
lovable for not permitting me to be the captive of any passing
joy. He knows well that if He sent me but a shadow of earthly
happiness I should cling to it with all the intense ardour of my
heart, and He refuses even this shadow . . . He prefers to leave
me in darkness, rather than afford me a false glimmer which would
not be Himself.
I do not wish creatures to have one atom of my love. I wish to
give all to Jesus, since He makes me understand that He alone is
perfect happiness. All!--all shall be for Him! And even when I
have nothing, as is the case to-night, I will give Him this
nothing . . .
III
1889.
. . . . . . .
I have a longing for those heart-wounds, those pin-pricks which
inflict so much pain. I know of no ecstasy to which I do not
prefer sacrifice. There I find happiness, and there alone. The
slender reed has no fear of being broken, for it is planted beside
the waters of Love. When, therefore, it bends before the gale, it
gathers strength in the refreshing stream, and longs for yet
another storm to pass and sway its head. My very weakness makes me
strong. No harm can come to me since, in whatever happens, I see
only the tender Hand of Jesus . . . Besides, no suffering is too
big a price to pay for the glorious palm.
IV
(Written during her retreat before profession.)
September, 1890.
MY DEAREST MOTHER,--Your little hermit must give you an account of
her journey. Before starting, my Beloved asked me in what land I
wished to travel, and what road I wished to take. I told him that
I had only one desire, that of reaching the summit of the
_Mountain of Love._
Thereupon roads innumerable spread before my gaze, but so many of
these were perfect that I felt incapable of choosing any of my own
free will. Then I said to my Divine Guide: "Thou knowest where
lies the goal of my desire, and for Whose sake I would climb the
Mountain. Thou knowest Who possesses the love of my heart. For Him
only I set out on this journey; lead me therefore by the paths of
His choosing: my joy shall be full if only He is pleased."
And Our Lord took me by the hand, and led me through an
underground passage where it is neither hot nor cold, where the
sun shines not, and where neither wind nor rain can enter--a place
where I see nothing but a half-veiled light, the light that gleams
from the downcast Eyes of the Face of Jesus.
My Spouse speaks not a word, and I say nothing save that I love
Him more than myself; and in the depths of my heart I know this is
true, for I am more His than mine. I cannot see that we are
advancing toward our journey's goal since we travel by a
subterranean way; and yet, without knowing how, it seems to me
that we are nearing the summit of the Mountain.
I give thanks to my Jesus for making me walk in darkness, and in
this darkness I enjoy profound peace. Willingly do I consent to
remain through all my religious life in this gloomy passage into
which He has led me. I desire only that my darkness may obtain
light for sinners. I am content, nay, full of joy, to be without
all consolation. I should be ashamed if my love were like that of
those earthly brides who are ever looking for gifts from their
bridegrooms, or seeking to catch the loving smile which fills them
with delight.
Thérèse, the little Spouse of Jesus, loves Him for Himself; she
only looks on the Face of her Beloved to catch a glimpse of the
Tears which delight her with their secret charm. She longs to wipe
away those Tears, or to gather them up like priceless diamonds
with which to adorn her bridal dress. _Jesus!_ . . . _Oh! I would
so love Him! Love Him as He has never yet been loved!_ . . .
At all cost I must win the palm of St. Agnes; if it cannot be mine
through blood, I must win it by Love.
V
1891.
Love can take the place of a long life. Jesus does not consider
time, for He is Eternal. He only looks at the love. My little
Mother, beg Him to bestow it upon me in full measure. I do not
desire that thrill of love which I can feel; if Jesus feel its
thrill, then that is enough for me. It is so sweet to love Him, to
make Him loved. Ask Him to take me to Him on my profession-day, if
by living on I should ever offend Him, because I wish to bear
unsullied to Heaven the white robe of my second Baptism.[1] Now
Jesus can grant me the grace never to offend Him more, or rather
never to commit any faults but those which do not offend Him or
give Him pain; faults which serve but to humble me and strengthen
my love. There is no one to lean on apart from Jesus. He alone
faileth not, and it is exceeding joy to think that He can never
change.
VI
1891.
MY DEAREST LITTLE MOTHER,--Your letter has done me such good. The
sentence: "Let us refrain from saying a word which could raise us
in the eyes of others," has indeed enlightened my soul. Yes, we
must keep all for Jesus with jealous care. It is so good to work
for Him alone. How it fills the heart with joy, and lends wings to
the soul! Ask of Jesus that Thérèse--His _grain of sand_--may save
Him a multitude of souls in a short space of time, so that she may
the sooner behold His Adorable Face.
VII
1892.
Here is the dream of this "grain of sand": Love Jesus alone, and
naught else beside! The grain of sand is so small that if it
wished to open its heart to any other but Jesus, there would no
longer be room for this Beloved.
What happiness to be so entirely hidden that no one gives us a
thought--to be unknown even to those with whom we live! My little
Mother, I long to be unknown to everyone of God's creatures! I
have never desired glory amongst men, and if their contempt used
to attract my heart, I have realized that even this is too
glorious for me, and I thirst to be forgotten.
The Glory of Jesus--this is my sole ambition. I abandon my glory
to Him; and if He seem to forget me, well, He is free to do so
since I am no longer my own, but His. He will weary sooner of
making me wait than I shall of waiting.
VIII
[One day when Soeur Thérèse was suffering acutely from
feverishness, one of the Sisters urged her to help in a difficult
piece of painting. For a moment Thérèse's countenance betrayed an
inward struggle, which did not escape the notice of Mother Agnes
of Jesus. That same evening Thérèse wrote her the following
letter.]
May 28, 1897.
MY DEAREST MOTHER,--I have just been shedding sweet tears--tears
of repentance, but still more of thankfulness and love. To-day I
showed you the treasure of my patience, and how virtuous I am--I
who preach so well to others! I am glad that you have seen my want
of perfection. You did not scold me, and yet I deserved it. But at
all times your gentleness speaks to me more forcibly than would
severe words. To me you are the image of God's Mercy.
Sister N., on the contrary, is more often the image of God's
severity. Well, I have just met her, and, instead of passing me
coldly by, she embraced me and said: "Poor little Sister, I am so
sorry . . . I do not want to tire you; it was wrong of me to ask
your help; leave the work alone." In my heart I felt perfect
sorrow, and I was much surprised to escape all blame. I know she
must really deem me imperfect. She spoke in this way because she
thinks I am soon to die. However that may be, I have heard nothing
but kind and tender words from her; and so I consider her most
kind, and myself an unamiable creatures.
When I returned to our cell, I was wondering what Jesus thought,
when all at once I remembered His words to the woman taken in
adultery: "Hath no man condemned thee?"[2] With tears in my eyes,
I answered Him: "No one, Lord, . . . neither my little Mother--the
image of Thy Mercy--nor Sister N., the image of Thy Justice. I
feel that I can go in peace, because neither wilt Thou condemn me."
I confess I am much happier because of my weakness than
if--sustained by grace--I had been a model of patience. It does me
so much good to see that Jesus is always sweet and tender towards
me. Truly it is enough to make me die of grateful love.
My little Mother, you will understand how this evening the vessel
of God's Mercy has overflowed for your child. . . . _Even now I
know it! Yea, all my hopes will be fulfilled_ . . .
VERILY THE LORD WILL WORK WONDERS FOR ME, AND THEY WILL INFINITELY
SURPASS MY BOUNDLESS DESIRES.
_____________________________
[1] Soeur Thérèse here alludes to the probable opinion of
theologians that--as in Baptism--all stain of sin is removed and
all temporal punishment for sin remitted, by the vows taken on the
day of religious profession. [Ed.]
[2] John 8:10.
_____________________________
LETTERS TO SISTER MARY OF THE SACRED HEART
I
February 21, 1888.
MY DEAR MARIE,--You cannot think what a lovely present Papa made
me last week; I believe if I gave you a hundred or even a thousand
guesses you would never find out what it was. Well, my dear Father
bought me a new-born lamb, all white and fleecy. He said that
before I entered the Carmel he wanted me to have this pleasure. We
were all delighted, especially Céline. What touched me more than
anything was Papa's thoughtfulness. Besides, a lamb is symbolic,
and it made me think of Pauline.
So far, so good, but now for the sequel. We were already building
castles in the air, and expected that in two or three days the
lamb would be frisking round us. But the pretty creature died that
same afternoon. Poor little thing, scarcely was it born when it
suffered and died. It looked so gentle and innocent that Céline
made a sketch of it, and then we laid it in a grave dug by Papa.
It appeared to be asleep. I did not want the earth to be its
covering, so we put snow upon our pet, and all was over.
You do not know, dearest Godmother, how this little creature's
death has made me reflect. Clearly we must not become attached to
anything, no matter how innocent, because it will slip from our
grasp when least expected; nothing but the eternal can content us.
II
(Written during her retreat before receiving the habit.)
January 8, 1889.
Your little _Lamb_--as you love to call me, dearest sister--would
borrow from you some strength and courage. I cannot speak to Our
Lord, and He is silent too. Pray that my retreat may be pleasing
to the Heart of Him Who alone reads the secrets of the soul.
Life is full of sacrifice, it is true, but why seek happiness
here? For life is but "a night to be spent in a wretched inn," as
our holy Mother St. Teresa says. I assure you my heart thirsts
ardently for happiness, but I see clearly that no creature can
quench that thirst. On the contrary, the oftener I would drink
from these seductive waters the more burning will my thirst
become. I know a source where "they that drink shall yet
thirst,"[1] but with a delicious thirst, a thirst one can always
allay. . . . That source is the suffering known to Jesus only.
III
August 14, 1889.
You ask for a word from your little Lamb. But what shall I say? Is
it not you who have taught me? Remember those days when I sat upon
your knee, and you talked to me of Heaven.
I can still hear you say: "Look at those who want to become rich,
and see how they toil to obtain money. Now, my little Thérèse,
through every moment of the day and with far less trouble, we can
lay up riches in Heaven. Diamonds are so plentiful, we can gather
them together as with a rake, and we do this by performing all our
actions for the love of God." Then I would leave you, my heart
overflowing with joy, and fully bent on amassing great wealth.
Time has flown since those happy hours spent together in our dear
nest. Jesus has visited us, and has found us worthy to be tried in
the crucible of suffering. God has said that on the last day "He
will wipe away all tears from our eyes,"[2] and no doubt the more
tears there are to dry, the greater will be the happiness.
Pray to-morrow for the little one who owes you her upbringing, and
who, without you, might never have come to the Carmel.
IV
(During her retreat before profession)
September 4, 1890.
The heavenly music falls but faintly on the ear of your child, and
it has been a dreary journey towards her Bridal Day. It is true
her Betrothed has led her through fertile lands and gorgeous
scenery, but the dark night has prevented her admiring, much less
revelling in, the beauty all around. Perhaps you think this
grieved her. Oh, no! she is happy to follow her Betrothed for His
own sake, and not for the sake of His gifts. He is so ravishingly
beautiful, even when silent--even when concealed. Weary of earthly
consolation, your little child wishes for her Beloved alone. I
believe that the work of Jesus during this retreat has been to
detach me from everything but Himself. My only comfort is the
exceeding strength and peace that is mine. Besides, I hope to be
just what He wills I should be, and in this lies all my happiness.
Did you but know how great is my joy at giving pleasure to Jesus
through being utterly deprived of all joy! . . . . Truly this is
the very refinement of all joy--joy we do not feel.
V
September 7, 1890.
To-morrow I shall be the Spouse of Jesus, of Him Whose "look was
as it were hidden and despised."[3] What a future this alliance
opens up! How can I thank Him, how render myself less unworthy of
so great a favour?
I thirst after Heaven, that blessed abode where our love for Jesus
will be without bounds. True, we must pass through suffering and
tears to reach that home, but I wish to suffer all that my Beloved
is pleased to send me; I wish to let Him do as He wills with His
"little ball." You tell me, dearest Godmother, that my Holy Child
is beautifully adorned for my wedding-day;[4] perhaps, however,
you wonder why I have not put new rose-coloured candles. The old
ones appeal to me more because they were lighted for the first
time on my clothing-day. They were then fresh and of rosy hue.
Papa had given them to me; he was there, and all was joyful. But
now their tint has faded. Are there yet any rose-coloured joys on
earth for your little Thérèse? No, for her there are only heavenly
joys; joys where the hollowness of all things gives place to the
Uncreated Reality.
VI
MY DEAREST SISTER,--I do not find it difficult to answer
you. . . . How can you ask me if it be possible for you to love
God as I love Him! My desire for martyrdom is as nothing; it is
not to that I owe the boundless confidence that fills my heart.
Such desires might be described as spiritual riches, which are
_the unjust mammon,_[5] when one is complacent in them as in
something great. . . . These aspirations are a consolation Jesus
sometimes grants to weak souls like mine--and there are many
such! But when He withholds this consolation, it is a special
grace. Remember these words of a holy monk: "The martyrs
suffered with joy, and the King of Martyrs in sorrow." Did not
Jesus cry out: "My father, remove this chalice from Me"?[6] Do
not think, then, that my desires are a proof of my love. Indeed
I know well that it is certainly not these desires which make
God take pleasure in my soul. What does please Him is to find me
love my littleness, my poverty: it is the blind trust which I
have in His Mercy. . . . There is my sole treasure, dearest
Godmother, and why should it not be yours?
Are you not ready to suffer all that God wills? Assuredly; and so
if you wish to know joy and to love suffering, you are really
seeking your own consolation, because once we love, all suffering
disappears. Verily, if we were to go together to martyrdom, you
would gain great merit, and I should have none, unless it pleased
Our Lord to change my dispositions.
Dear sister, do you not understand that to love Jesus and to be
His Victim of Love, the more weak and wretched we are the better
material do we make for this consuming and transfiguring Love?
. . . The simple desire to be a Victim suffices, but we must also
consent to ever remain poor and helpless, and here lies the
difficulty: "Where shall we find one that is truly poor in spirit?
We must seek him afar off," says the author of the _Imitation._[7]
He does not say that we must search among great souls, but "afar
off"--that is to say, in abasement and in nothingness. Let us
remain far from all that dazzles, loving our littleness, and
content to have no joy. Then we shall be truly poor in spirit, and
Jesus will come to seek us however far off we may be, and
transform us into flames of Love. . . . I long to make you
understand what I feel. Confidence alone must lead us to
Love. . . . Does not fear lead to the thought of the strict justice
that is threatened to sinners? But that is not the justice Jesus
will show to such as love Him.
God would not vouchsafe you the desire to be the Victim of His
Merciful Love, were this not a favour in store--or rather already
granted, since you are wholly surrendered unto Him and long to be
consumed by Him, and God never inspires a longing which He cannot
fulfill.
The road lies clear, and along it we must run together. I feel
that Jesus wishes to bestow on us the same graces; He wishes to
grant us both a free entrance into His Heavenly Kingdom. Dearest
Godmother, you would like to hear still more of the secrets which
Jesus confides to your child, but human speech cannot tell what
the human heart itself can scarcely conceive. Besides, Jesus
confides His secrets to you likewise. This I know, for you it was
who taught me to listen to His Divine teaching. On the day of my
Baptism you promised in my name that I would serve Him alone. You
were the Angel who led me and guided me in my days of exile and
offered me to Our Lord. As a child loves its mother, I love you;
in Heaven only will you realise the gratitude with which my heart
is full to overflowing.
Your little daughter,
Teresa of the Child Jesus.
_____________________________
[1] Eccles. 24:29.
[2] Apoc. 21:4.
[3] Isa. 53:3.
[4] She alludes to the Statue of the Holy Child in the cloister,
which was under her own special care. [Ed.]
[5] Luke 16:2.
[6] Luke 22:42.
[7] Cf. _Imit.,_ II, xi. 4.
_____________________________
LETTERS TO SISTER FRANCES TERESA[1]
I
August 13, 1893.
DEAR LITTLE SISTER,--At last your desires are satisfied. Like the
dove sent forth from the ark, you have been unable to find a spot
on earth whereon to rest, and have long been on the wing seeking
to re-enter the blessed abode where your heart had for ever fixed
its home. Jesus has kept you waiting, but at last, touched by the
plaintive cry of His dove, He has put forth His Divine Hand, and,
taking hold of it, has set it in His Heart--that sanctuary of His
Love.
It is quite a spiritual joy, this joy of mine. For I shall never
look upon you again, never hear your voice as I outpour my heart
into yours. Yet I know that earth is but a halting-place to us who
journey towards a Heavenly Home. What matter if the routes we
follow lie apart? Our goal is the same--that Heaven where we shall
meet, no more to be separated. There we shall taste for ever the
sweets of our earthly home. We shall have much to tell one another
when this exile is ended. Speech here below is so inadequate, but
a single glance will be enough for perfect understanding in our
home beyond; and I believe that our happiness will be greater than
if we had never been parted here.
Meanwhile we must live by sacrifice. Without it there would be no
merit in the religious life. As someone told us in a conference:
"The reason why the forest oak raises its head so high is because,
hemmed in on all sides, it wastes no sap in putting forth branches
underneath, but towers aloft. Thus in the religious life the soul,
hedged in all around by the rule and by the practice of community
life, of necessity finds there a means of lifting a high head
towards Heaven."
Dearest sister, pray for your little Thérèse that she may draw
profit from her exile on earth and from the plentiful means
granted her of meriting Heaven.
II
January, 1895.
DEAR LITTLE SISTER,--How fruitful for Heaven has been the year
that is gone! . . . Our dear Father has seen that which the eye of
man cannot see, he has heard the minstrelsy of the angels . . .
now his heart understands, and his soul enjoys "the things which
God hath prepared for those who love Him."[2] . . . Our turn will
come, and it is full sweet to think our sails are set towards the
Eternal Shore.
Do you not find, as I do, that our beloved Father's death has
drawn us nearer to Heaven? More than half of our loved ones
already enjoy the Vision of God, and the five who remain in exile
will follow soon. This thought of the shortness of life gives me
courage, and helps me to put up with the weariness of the journey.
What matters a little toil upon earth? We pass . . . "We have not
here a lasting city."[3]
Think of your Thérèse during this month consecrated to the Infant
Jesus, and beg of Him that she may always remain a very little
child. I will offer the same prayer for you, because I know your
desires, and that humility is your favourite virtue.
Which Thérèse will be the more fervent? . . . She who will be the
more humble, the more closely united to Jesus, and the more
faithful in making love the mainspring of every action. We must
not let slip one single occasion of sacrifice, everything has such
value in the religious life . . . Pick up a pin from a motive of
love, and you may thereby convert a soul. Jesus alone can make our
deeds of such worth, so let us love Him with every fibre of our
heart.
III
July 12, 1896.
MY DEAR LITTLE LÉONIE,--I should have answered your letter last
Sunday if it had been given to me, but you know that, being the
youngest, I run the risk of not seeing letters for some
considerable time after my sisters, and occasionally not at all. I
only read yours on Friday, so forgive my delay.
You are right--Jesus is content with a tender look or a sigh of
love. For my part, I find it quite easy to practise perfection,
now that I realise it only means making Jesus captive through His
Heart. Look at a little child who has just vexed its mother,
either by giving way to temper or by disobedience. If it hides in
a corner and is sulky, or if it cries for fear of being punished,
its mother will certainly not forgive the fault. But should it run
to her with its little arms outstreteched, and say; "Kiss me,
Mother; I will not do it again!" what mother would not straightway
clasp her child lovingly to her heart, and forget all it had done?
. . . She knows quite well that her little one will repeat the
fault--no matter, her darling will escape all punishment so long
as it makes appeal to her heart.
Even when the law of fear was in force, before Our Lord's coming,
the prophet Isaias said--speaking in the name of the King of
Heaven: "Can a woman forget her babe? . . . And if she should
forget, yet will I not forget thee."[4] What a touching promise!
We who live under the law of Love, shall we not profit by the
loving advances made by our Spouse? How can anybody fear Him Who
allows Himself to be made captive "with one hair of our neck"?[5]
Let us learn to keep Him prisoner--this God, the Divine Beggar of
love. By telling us that a single hair can work this wonder, He
shows us that the smallest actions done for His Love are those
which charm His Heart. If it were necessary to do great things, we
should be deserving of pity, but we are happy beyond measure,
because Jesus lets Himself be led captive by the smallest action.
. . . With you, dear Léonie, little sacrifices are never lacking.
Is not your life made up of them? I rejoice to see you in presence
of such wealth, especially when I remember that you know how to
make profit thereby, not only for yourself but likewise for poor
sinners. It is so sweet to help Jesus to save the souls which He
has ransomed at the price of His Precious Blood, and which only
await our help to keep them from the abyss.
It seems to me that if our sacrifices take Jesus captive, our joys
make Him prisoner too. All that is needful to attain this end is,
that instead of giving ourselves over to selfish happiness, we
offer to our Spouse the little joys He scatters in our path, to
charm our hearts and draw them towards Him.
You ask for news of my health. Well, my cough has quite
disappeared. Does that please you? It will not prevent Our Lord
from taking me to Himself whensoever He wishes. And I need not
prepare for that journey, since my whole endeavour is to remain as
a little child. Jesus Himself must pay all its expenses, as well
as the price of my admission to Heaven.
Good-bye, dearest one, pray to Him without fail for the last and
least of your sisters.
IV
July 17, 1897.
MY DEAR LÉONIE,--I am so pleased to be able to write to you again.
Some days ago I thought I should never again have this
consolation, but it seems God wishes to prolong somewhat the time
of my exile. This does not trouble me--I would not enter Heaven
one moment sooner through my own will. The only real happiness on
earth is to strive always to think "how goodly is the chalice"[6]
that Jesus give us. Yours is indeed a goodly one, dear Léonie. If
you wish to be a Saint--and it will not be hard--keep only one end
in view: give pleasure to Jesus, and bind yourself more closely to
Him.
Good-bye, my dear sister, I should wish the thought of my entering
Heaven to fill you with joy, because I shall then be better able
to give you proof of my tender love. In the Heart of our Heavenly
Spouse we shall live His very life, and through eternity I shall
remain,
Your very little sister,
TERESA OF THE CHILD JESUS.
_____________________________
[1] Nearly all the letters written by Soeur Thérèse to her sister
Léonie are lost. These few have been recovered. It will be
remembered that Léonie entered the Convent of the Visitation at
Caen. See note, page 113.
[2] Cf. I Cor. 2:9.
[3] Heb. 13:14.
[4] Isa. 49:15.
[5] Cant. 4:9.
[6] Ps. 22[23]:5.
_____________________________
LETTERS TO HER COUSIN MARIE GUÉRIN
I
1888.
Before you confided in me,[1] I felt you were suffering, and my
heart was one with yours. Since you have the humility to ask
advice of your little Thérèse, this is what she thinks: you have
grieved me greatly by abstaining from Holy Communion, because you
have grieved Our Lord. The devil must be very cunning to deceive a
soul in this way. Do you not know, dear Marie, that by acting thus
you help him to accomplish his end? The treacherous creature knows
quite well that when a soul is striving to belong wholly to God he
cannot cause her to sin, so he merely tries to persuade her that
she has sinned. This is a considerable gain, but not enough to
satisfy his hatred, so he aims at something more, and tries to
shut out Jesus from a tabernacle which Jesus covets. Unable to
enter this sanctuary himself, he wishes that at least it remain
empty and without its God. Alas, what will become of that poor
little heart? When the devil has succeeded in keeping a soul from
Holy Communion he has gained all his ends . . . while Jesus
weeps! . . .
Remember, little Marie, that this sweet Jesus is there in the
Tabernacle expressly for you and you alone. Remember that He burns
with the desire to enter your heart. Do not listen to satan. Laugh
him to scorn, and go without fear to receive Jesus, the God of
peace and of love.
"Thérèse thinks all this"--you say--"because she does not know my
difficulties." She does know, and knows them well; she understands
everything, and she tells you confidently that you can go without
fear to receive your only true Friend. She, too, has passed
through the martyrdom of scruples, but Jesus gave her the grace to
receive the Blessed Sacrament always, even when she imagined she
had committed great sins. I assure you I have found that this is
the only means of ridding oneself of the devil. When he sees that
he is losing his time he leaves us in peace.
In truth it is impossible that a heart which can only find rest in
contemplation of the Tabernacle--and yours is such, you tell
me--could so far offend Our Lord as not to be able to receive Him
. . . What does offend Jesus, what wounds Him to the Heart, is
want of confidence.
Pray much that the best portion of your life may not be
overshadowed by idle fears. We have only life's brief moments to
spend for the Glory of God, and well does satan know it. This is
why he employs every ruse to make us consume them in useless
labour. Dear sister, go often to Holy Communion, go very
often--that is your one remedy.
II
1894
You are like some little village maiden who, when sought in
marriage by a mighty king would not dare to accept him, on the
plea that she is not rich enough, and is strange to the ways of a
court. But does not her royal lover know better than she does, the
extent of her poverty and ignorance?
Marie, though you are nothing, do not forget that Jesus is All.
You have only to lose your own nothingness in that Infinite All,
and thenceforth to think only of that All who alone is worthy of
your love.
You tell me you wish to see the fruit of your efforts. That is
exactly what Jesus would hide from you. He likes to contemplate by
Himself these little fruits of our virtue. They console Him.
You are quite wrong, Marie, if you think that Thérèse walks
eagerly along the way of Sacrifice: her weakness is still very
great, and every day some new and wholesome experience brings this
home more clearly. Yet Jesus delights to teach her how to _glory
in her infirmities._[2] It is a great grace, and I pray Him to
give it to you, for with it come peace and tranquillity of heart.
When we see our misery we do not like to look at ourselves but
only upon our Beloved.
You ask me for a method of obtaining perfection. I know of
Love--and Love only! Our hearts are made for this alone. Sometimes
I endeavour to find some other word for love; but in a land of
exile "words which have a beginning and an end"[3] are quite
unable to render adequately the emotions of the soul, and so we
must keep to the one simple word--LOVE.
But on whom shall our poor hearts lavish this love, and who will
be worthy of this treasure? Is there anyone who will understand it
and--above all--is there anyone who will be able to repay? Marie,
Jesus alone understands love: He alone can give back all--yea,
infinitely more than the utmost we can give.
_____________________________
[1] The allusion is to the scruples from which Marie suffered.
Having read this letter--which is a strong plea for Frequent
Communion--Pope Pius X declared it "most opportune." Thérèse was
but fifteen when she wrote it. [Ed.]
[2] 2 Cor. 11:5.
[3] St. Augustine.
_____________________________
LETTER TO HER COUSIN, JEANNE GUÉRIN (MADAME LA NÉELE)
August, 1895.
It is a very great sacrifice that God has asked of you, my dear
Jeanne, in calling your little Marie to the Carmel; but remember
that He has promised a hundredfold to anyone who for His Love hath
left father or mother or _sister._[1] Now, for love of Jesus, you
have not hesitated to part with a sister dearer to you than words
can say, and therefore He is bound to keep His promise. I know
that these words are generally applied to those who enter the
religious life, but my heart tells me they were spoken, too, for
those whose generosity is such that they will sacrifice to God
even the loved ones they hold dearer than life itself.
_____________________________
[1] Mark 10:30.
_____________________________
LETTERS TO HER BROTHER MISSIONARIES
I
1895.
Our Divine Lord asks no sacrifice beyond our strength. At times,
it is true, He makes us taste to the full the bitterness of the
chalice He puts to our lips. And when He demands the sacrifice of
all that is dearest on earth, it is impossible without a very
special grace not to cry out as He did during His Agony in the
Garden: "My Father, let this chalice pass from me!" But we must
hasten to add: "Yet not as I will, but as Thou wilt."[1] It is so
consoling to think that Jesus, "the Strong God,"[2] has felt all
our weaknesses and shuddered at the sight of the bitter
chalice--that very chalice He had so ardently desired.
Your lot is indeed a beautiful one, since Our Lord has chosen it
for you, and has first touched with His own Lips the cup which He
holds out to yours. A Saint has said: "The greatest honour God can
bestow upon a soul is not to give to it great things, but to ask
of it great things." Jesus treats you as a privileged child. It is
His wish you should begin your mission even now,[3] and save souls
through the Cross. Was it not by suffering and death that He
ransomed the world? I know that you aspire to the happiness of
laying down your life for Him; but the martyrdom of the heart is
not less fruitful than the shedding of blood, and this martyrdom
is already yours. Have I not, then, good reason to say that your
lot is a beautiful one--worthy an apostle of Christ?
II
1896.
Let us work together for the salvation of souls! We have but the
one day of this life to save them, and so give to Our Lord a proof
of our love. To-morrow will be Eternity, then Jesus will reward
you a hundredfold for the sweet joys you have given up for Him. He
knows the extent of your sacrifice. He knows that the sufferings
of those you hold dear increase your own; but He has suffered this
same martyrdom for our salvation. He, too, left His Mother; He
beheld that sinless Virgin standing at the foot of the Cross, her
heart pierced through with a sword of sorrow, and I hope he will
console your own dear mother. . . . I beg Him most earnestly to do
so.
Ah! If the Divine Master would permit those you are about to leave
for His Love but one glimpse of the glory in store, and the vast
retinue of souls that will escort you to Heaven, already they
would be repaid for the great sacrifice that is at hand.
III
February 24, 1896.
Please say this little prayer for me each day; it sums up all my
desires:
"Merciful Father, in the name of Thy sweet Jesus, of the Blessed
Virgin, and all the Saints, I beg Thee to consume my sister with
Thy spirit of love, and to grant her the grace to make Thee
greatly loved."
If Our Lord takes me soon to Himself, I ask you still to continue
this prayer, because my longing will be the same in Heaven as upon
earth: _to love Jesus and to make Him loved._
IV
. . . . . . .
All I desire is God's Holy Will, and if in Heaven I could no
longer work for His glory, I should prefer exile to Home.
V
June 21, 1897
You may well sing of the Mercies of God! They shine forth in you
with splendour. You love St. Augustine and St. Mary Magdalen,
those souls to whom many sins were forgiven because they loved
much. I love them too; I love their sorrow, and especially their
audacious love. When I see Mary Magdalen come forth before all
Simon's guests to wash with her tears her Master's Feet--those
Feet that for the first time she touches--I feel her heart has
fathomed that abyss of love and mercy, the Heart of Jesus; and I
feel, too, that not only was He willing to forgive, but even
liberally to dispense the favours of a Divine and intimate
friendship, and to raise her to the loftiest heights of prayer.
My Brother, since I also have been given to understand the Love of
the Heart of Jesus, I confess that all fear has been driven from
mine. The remembrance of my faults humbles me; and it helps me
never to rely upon my own strength--which is but weakness--but
more than all, it speaks to me of mercy and of love. When a soul
with childlike trust casts her faults into Love's all-devouring
furnace, how shall they escape being utterly consumed?
I know that many Saints have passed their lives in the practice of
amazing penance for the sake of expiating their sins. But what of
that? "In my Father's house there are many mansions."[4] These are
the words of Jesus, and therefore I follow the path He marks out
for me; I try to be nowise concerned about myself and what Jesus
deigns to accomplish in my soul.
VI
1897.
On this earth where everything changes, one thing alone does never
change--our Heavenly King's treatment of His friends. From the day
He raised the standard of the Cross, in its shadow all must fight
and win. "The life of every missionary abounds in crosses," said
Théophane Vénard. And again: "True happiness consists in
suffering, and in order to live we must die."
Rejoice, my Brother, that the first efforts of your Apostolate are
stamped with the seal of the Cross. Far more by suffering and by
persecution than by eloquent discourses does Jesus wish to build
up His Kingdom.
You are still--you tell me--a little child who cannot speak.
Neither could Father Mazel, who was ordained with you, and yet he
has already won the palm . . . Far beyond our thoughts are the
thoughts of God! When I learnt that this young missionary had died
before he had set foot on the field of his labours, I felt myself
drawn to invoke him. I seemed to see him amidst the glorious
Martyr choir. No doubt, in the eyes of men he does not merit the
title of Martyr, but in the eyes of God this inglorious death is
no less precious than the sacrifice of him who lays down his life
for the Faith.
Though one must be exceeding pure before appearing in the sight of
the All-Holy God, still I know that He is infinitely just, and
this very Justice which terrifies so many souls is the source of
all my confidence and joy. Justice is not only stern severity
towards the guilty; it takes account of the good intention, and
gives to virtue its reward. Indeed I hope as much from the Justice
of God as from His Mercy. It is because He is just, that "He is
compassionate and merciful, longsuffering, and plenteous in mercy.
For He knoweth our frame, He remembereth that we are dust. As a
father hath compassion on his children, so hath the Lord
compassion on us."[5]
O my Brother, after these beautiful and consoling words of the
Royal Prophet, how can we doubt God's power to open the gates of
His Kingdom to His children who have loved Him unto perfect
sacrifice, who have not only left home and country so as to make
Him known and loved, but even long to lay down their lives for
Him? . . . Jesus said truly there is no greater love than this.
Nor will He be outdone in generosity. How could He cleanse in the
flames of Purgatory souls consumed with the fire of Divine Love?
I have used many words to express my thought, and yet I fear I
have failed. What I wish to convey is, that in my opinion all
missionaries are Martyrs by will and desire, and not even one
should pass through the purifying flames.
This, then, is what I think about the Justice of God; my own way
is all confidence and love, and I cannot understand those souls
who are afraid of so affectionate a Friend. Sometimes, when I read
books in which perfection is put before us with the goal
obstructed by a thousand obstacles, my poor little head is quickly
fatigued. I close the learned treatise, which tires my brain and
dries up my heart, and I turn to the Sacred Scriptures. Then all
becomes clear and lightsome--a single word opens out infinite
vistas, perfection appears easy, and I see that it is enough to
acknowledge our nothingness, and like children surrender ourselves
into the Arms of the Good God. Leaving to great and lofty minds
the beautiful books which I cannot understand, still less put in
practice, I rejoice in my littleness because "only little children
and those who are like them shall be admitted to the Heavenly
banquet."[6] Fortunately--"there are many mansions in my Father's
House":[7] if there were only those--to me--incomprehensible
mansions with their baffling roads, I should certainly never enter
there . . .
VII
July 13, 1897.
Your soul is too great to cling to the consolations of earth, and
even now its abode should be in Heaven, for it is written: "Where
your treasure is, there will your heart be also."[8] Is not Jesus
your only treasure? Now that He is in Heaven, it is there your
heart should dwell. This sweet Saviour has long since forgotten
your infidelities. He sees only your longing after perfection, and
the sight makes glad His Heart.
Stay no longer at His Feet, I beseech you, but follow this first
impulse to throw yourself into His Arms. Your place is there, and
I see clearly--more clearly than in your former letters--that all
other heavenly route is barred to you save the way your little
sister treads.
I hold with you when you say that the Heart of Jesus is more
grieved by the thousand little imperfections of His friends than
by the faults, even grave, which His enemies commit. Yet it seems
to me, dear Brother, it is only when those who are His own are
habitually guilty of want of thought, and neglect to seek His
pardon, that He can say: "These Wounds which you see in the midst
of My Hands, I have received in the house of those who love
Me."[9] But His Heart thrills with you when He had to deal with
all those who truly love, and who after each little fault come to
fling themselves into His Arms imploring forgiveness. He says to
His Angels what the prodigal's father said to his servants: "Put a
ring upon his finger, and let us rejoice."[10] O Brother! Verily
the Divine Heart's Goodness and Merciful Love are little known! It
is true that to enjoy these treasures we must humble ourselves,
must confess our nothingness . . . and here is where many a soul
draws back.
VIII
1897.
What attracts me towards our Heavenly Home is the Master's
call--the hope of loving Him at last to the fulfilling of all my
desire--the thought that I shall be able to win Him the love of a
multitude of souls, who will bless Him through all eternity.
I have never asked God that I might die young--that to me were a
cowardly prayer; but from my childhood He has deigned to inspire
me with a strong conviction that my life would be a short one.
I feel we must tread the same road to Heaven--the road of
suffering and love. When I myself have reached the port, I will
teach you how best to sail the world's tempestuous sea--with the
self-abandonment of a child well aware of a father's love, and of
his vigilance in the hour of danger.
I long so much to make you understand the expectant love of the
Heart of Jesus. Your last letter has made my own heart thrill
sweetly. I learnt how closely your soul is sister to mine, since
God calls that soul to mount to Himself by the _lift of love,_
without climbing the steep stairway of fear. I am not surprised
you find it hard to be familiar with Jesus--one cannot become so
in a day; but this I do know, I shall aid you much more to tread
this beautiful path when I lay aside the burden of this perishable
body. Ere long you will exclaim with St. Augustine: "Love is my
lodestone!"
IX
July 26, 1897.
When you read these few lines I shall perhaps be no more. I know
not the future; yet I can confidently say that my Spouse is at the
door. It would need a miracle to keep me in exile, and I do not
think that Jesus will work that miracle--He does nothing that is
of no avail.
Brother, I am so happy to die! Yes, happy . . . not because I
shall be free from suffering: on the contrary, suffering combined
with love seems the one thing worthy of desire in this vale of
tears; but happy to die because far more than on earth I shall
help the souls I hold dear.
Jesus has always treated me as a spoilt child. . . . It is true
that His Cross has been with me from the cradle, but for that
Cross He has given me a passionate love . . .
X
August 14, 1897.
I am about to go before God, and I understand now more than ever
that one thing only is needful--to work for Him alone, and do
nothing for self or creatures. Jesus wishes to own your heart
completely. Before this can be, you will have much to suffer . . .
but oh! what joy when comes the happy hour of going Home! I shall
not die--I do but enter into Life . . . and whatsoever I cannot
tell you here upon earth I will make you understand from the
heights of Heaven. . . .
_____________________________
[1] Matt. 26:39.
[2] Isa. 9:6.
[3] This letter and the following are addressed to a Seminarist.
[Ed.]
[4] John 14:2.
[5] Ps. 102[103]:8, 14, 13.
[6] Cf. Matt. 19:14.
[7] John 14:2.
[8] Luke 12:34.
[9] Cf. Zach. 13:6.
[10] Cf. Luke 15:22.
_____________________________
PRAYERS OF SOEUR THÉRÈSE, THE LITTLE FLOWER OF JESUS
_____________________________
AN ACT OF OBLATION AS A VICTIM OF DIVINE LOVE
_This Prayer was found after the death of Sister Teresa of the
Child Jesus and of the Holy Face in the copy of the Gospels which
she carried night and day close to her heart._
O my God, O Most Blessed Trinity, I desire to love Thee and to
make Thee loved--to labour for the glory of Holy Church by saving
souls here upon earth and by delivering those suffering in
Purgatory. I desire to fulfill perfectly Thy Holy Will, and to
reach the degree of glory Thou hast prepared for me in Thy
Kingdom. In a word, I wish to be holy, but, knowing how helpless I
am, I beseech Thee, my God, to be Thyself my holiness.
Since Thou hast loved me so much as to give me Thy Only-Begotten
Son to be my Saviour and my Spouse, the infinite treasures of His
merits are mine. Gladly do I offer them to Thee, and I beg of Thee
to behold me only through the Eyes of Jesus, and in His Heart
aflame with love. Moreover, I offer Thee all the merits of the
Saints both of Heaven and of earth, together with their acts of
love, and those of the holy Angels. Lastly, I offer Thee, O
Blessed Trinity, the love and the merits of the Blessed Virgin, my
dearest Mother--to her I commit this Oblation, praying her to
present it to Thee.
During the days of His life on earth her Divine Son, my sweet
Spouse, spake these words: "If you ask the Father anything in My
Name, He will give it you."[1] Therefore I am certain Thou wilt
fulfill my longing. O my God, I know that the more Thou wishest to
bestow, the more Thou dost make us desire. In my heart I feel
boundless desires, and I confidently beseech Thee to take
possession of my soul. I cannot receive Thee in Holy Communion as
often as I should wish; but, O Lord, art Thou not all-powerful?
Abide in me as Thou dost in the Tabernacle--never abandon Thy
Little Victim. I long to console Thee for ungrateful sinners, and
I implore Thee to take from me all liberty to sin. If through
weakness I should chance to fall, may a glance from Thine Eyes
straightway cleanse my soul, and consume all my imperfections--as
fire transforms all things into itself.
I thank Thee, O my God, for all the graces Thou hast granted me:
especially for having purified me in the crucible of suffering. At
the Day of Judgment I shall gaze on Thee with joy, as Thou bearest
Thy sceptre of the Cross. And since Thou hast deigned to give me
this precious Cross as my portion, I hope to be like unto Thee in
Paradise and to behold the Sacred Wounds of Thy Passion shine on
my glorified body.
After earth's exile I trust to possess Thee in the Home of our
Father; but I do not seek to lay up treasures in Heaven. I wish to
labour for Thy Love alone--with the sole aim of pleasing Thee, of
consoling Thy Sacred Heart, and of saving souls who will love Thee
through eternity.
When comes the evening of life, I shall stand before Thee with
empty hands, because I do not ask Thee, my God, to take account of
my works. All our works of justice are blemished in Thine Eyes. I
wish therefore to be robed with Thine own Justice, and to receive
from Thy Love the everlasting gift of Thyself. I desire no other
Throne, no other Crown but Thee, O my Beloved!
In Thy sight time is naught--"one day is a thousand years."[2]
Thou canst in a single instant prepare me to appear before Thee.
* * * * * * *
In order that my life may be one Act of perfect Love, I offer
myself as a Victim of Holocaust to Thy Merciful Love, imploring
Thee to consume me unceasingly, and to allow the floods of
infinite tenderness gathered up in Thee to overflow into my soul,
that so I may become a very martyr of Thy Love, O my God! May this
martyrdom, after having prepared me to appear in Thy Presence,
free me from this life at the last, and may my soul take its
flight--without delay--into the eternal embrace of Thy Merciful
Love!
* * * * * * *
O my Beloved, I desire at every beat of my heart to renew this
Oblation an infinite number of times, "till the shadows
retire,"[3] and everlastingly I can tell Thee my love face to face.
MARY FRANCES TERESA OF THE CHILD JESUS AND OF THE HOLY FACE.
The ninth of June, Feast of the Most Blessed Trinity, In the year
of grace, 1895.
A MORNING PRAYER
O my God! I offer Thee all my actions of this day for the
intentions and for the glory of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. I
desire to sanctify every beat of my heart, my every thought, my
simplest works, by uniting them to Its infinite merits; and I wish
to make reparation for my sins by casting them into the furnace of
Its Merciful Love.
O my God! I ask of Thee for myself and for those whom I hold dear,
the grace to fulfil perfectly Thy Holy Will, to accept for love of
Thee the joys and sorrows of this passing life, so that we may one
day be united together in Heaven for all Eternity. Amen.
AN ACT OF CONSECRATION TO THE HOLY FACE
Written for the Novices
O Adorable Face of Jesus, since Thou hast deigned to make special
choice of our souls, in order to give Thyself to them, we come to
consecrate these souls to Thee. We seem, O Jesus, to hear Thee
say: "Open to Me, My Sisters, My Spouses, for My Face is wet with
the dew, and My Locks with the drops of the night."[4] Our souls
understand Thy language of love; we desire to wipe Thy sweet Face,
and to console Thee for the contempt of the wicked. In their eyes
Thou art still "as it were hidden . . . they esteem Thee an object
of reproach."[5]
O Blessed Face, more lovely than the lilies and the roses of the
spring, Thou art not hidden from us. The tears which dim Thine
Eyes are as precious pearls which we delight to gather, and,
through their infinite value, to purchase the souls of our
brethren.
From Thy Adorable Lips we have heard Thy loving plaint: "I
thirst." Since we know that this thirst which consumes Thee is a
thirst for love, to quench it we would wish to possess an infinite
love.
Dear Spouse of our souls, if we could love with the love of all
hearts, that love would be Thine. . . . Give us, O Lord, this
love! Then come to thy Spouses and satisfy Thy Thirst.
And give to us souls, dear Lord . . . We thirst for souls!--Above
all for the souls of Apostles and Martyrs . . . that through them
we may inflame all poor sinners with love of Thee.
O Adorable Face, we shall succeed in winning this grace from Thee!
Unmindful of our exile, "by the rivers of Babylon," we will sing
in Thine Ears the sweetest of melodies. Since Thou art the true
and only Home of our souls, _our songs shall not be sung in a
strange land._[6] O Beloved Face of Jesus, while we await the
Eternal Day when we shall gaze upon Thine Infinite Glory, our only
desire is to delight Thy Divine Eyes by keeping our faces hidden
too, so that no one on earth may recognize us . . . Dear Jesus,
Heaven for us is Thy Hidden Face!
VARIOUS PRAYERS
_"If you ask the Father anything in My Name, He will give it
you."_-- John 16:23.
O Eternal Father, Thy Only-Begotten Son, the dear Child Jesus,
belongs to me since Thou hast given Him. I offer Thee the infinite
merits of His Divine Childhood, and I beseech Thee in His Name to
open the gates of Heaven to a countless host of little ones who
will for ever follow this Divine Lamb.
_"Just as the King's image is a talisman through which anything
may be purchased in his Kingdom, so through My Adorable Face--that
priceless coin of my Humanity--you will obtain all you desire."_
Our Lord to Sister Mary of St. Peter.[7]
Eternal Father, since Thou hast given me for my inheritance the
Adorable Face of Thy Divine Son, I offer that Face to Thee, and I
beg Thee, in exchange for this _coin_ of infinite value, to forget
the ingratitude of those souls who are consecrated to Thee, and to
pardon all poor sinners.
PRAYER TO THE HOLY CHILD
O Jesus, dear Holy Child, my only treasure, I abandon myself to
Thy every whim. I seek no other joy than that of calling forth Thy
sweet Smile. Vouchsafe to me the graces and the virtues of Thy
Holy Childhood, so that on the day of my birth into Heaven the
Angels and Saints may recognise in Thy Spouse: _Teresa of the
Child Jesus._
PRAYER TO THE HOLY FACE
O Adorable Face of Jesus, sole beauty which ravisheth my heart,
vouchsafe to impress on my soul Thy Divine Likeness, so that it
may not be possible for Thee to look at Thy Spouse without
beholding Thyself. O my Beloved, for love of Thee I am content not
to see here on earth the sweetness of Thy Glance, nor to feel the
ineffable Kiss of Thy Sacred Lips, but I beg of Thee to inflame me
with Thy Love, so that it may consume me quickly, and that soon
_Teresa of the Holy Face_ may behold Thy glorious Countenance in
Heaven.
PRAYER
_Inspired by the sight of a statue of The Blessed Joan of Arc_
O Lord God of Hosts, who hast said in Thy Gospel: "I am not come
to bring peace but a sword,"[8] arm me for the combat. I burn to
do battle for Thy Glory, but I pray Thee to enliven my
courage. . . . Then with holy David I shall be able to exclaim:
"Thou alone art my shield; it is Thou, O Lord Who teachest my
hands to fight."[9]
O my Beloved, I know the warfare in which I am to engage; it is
not on the open field I shall fight. . . . I am a prisoner held
captive by Thy Love; of my own free will I have riveted the
fetters which bind me to Thee, and cut me off for ever from the
world. My sword is Love! with it--like Joan of Arc--"I will drive
the strangers from the land, and I will have Thee proclaimed
King"--over the Kingdom of souls.
Of a truth Thou hast no need of so weak an instrument as I, but
Joan, thy chaste and valiant Spouse, has said: "We must do battle
before God gives the victory." O my Jesus! I will do battle, then,
for Thy love, until the evening of my life. As Thou didst not will
to enjoy rest upon earth, I wish to follow Thy example; and then
this promise which came from thy Sacred Lips will be fulfilled in
me: "If any man minister to me, let him follow Me, and where I am
there also shall My servant be, and . . . him will My Father
honour."[10] To be with Thee, to be in Thee, that is my one
desire; this promise of fulfilment, which Thou dost give, helps me
to bear with my exile as I wait the joyous Eternal Day when I
shall see Thee face to face.
PRAYER TO OBTAIN HUMILITY
_Written for a Novice_
O JESUS! When Thou wast a wayfarer upon earth, Thou didst
say:--"Learn of Me, for I am Meek and Humble of Heart, and you
shall find rest to your souls."[11] O Almighty King of Heaven! my
soul indeed finds rest in seeing Thee condescend to wash the feet
of Thy Apostles--"having taken the form of a slave."[12] I recall
the words Thou didst utter to teach me the practice of humility:
"I have given you an example, that as I have done to you, so you
do also. The servant is not greater than his Lord . . . If you
know these things, you shall be blessed if you do them."[13] I
understand, dear Lord, these words which come from Thy Meek and
Humble Heart, and I wish to put them in practice with the help of
Thy grace.
I desire to humble myself in all sincerity, and to submit my will
to that of my Sisters, without ever contradicting them, and
without questioning whether they have the right to command. No
one, O my Beloved! had that right over Thee, and yet Thou didst
obey not only the Blessed Virgin and St. Joseph, but even Thy
executioners. And now, in the Holy Eucharist, I see Thee complete
Thy self-abasement. O Divine King of Glory, with wondrous
humility, Thou dost submit Thyself to all Thy Priests, without any
distinction between those who love Thee and those who, alas! are
lukewarm or cold in Thy service. They may advance or delay the
hour of the Holy Sacrifice: Thou art always ready to come down
from Heaven at their call.
O my Beloved, under the white Eucharistic Veil Thou dost indeed
appear to me Meek and Humble of Heart! To teach me humility, Thou
canst not further abase Thyself, and so I wish to respond to Thy
Love, by putting myself in the lowest place, by sharing Thy
humiliations, so that I may "have part with Thee"[14] in the
Kingdom of Heaven.
I implore Thee, dear Jesus, to send me a humiliation whensoever I
try to set myself above others.
And yet, dear Lord, Thou knowest my weakness. Each morning I
resolve to be humble, and in the evening I recognise that I have
often been guilty of pride. The sight of these faults tempts me to
discouragement; yet I know that discouragement is itself but a
form of pride. I wish, therefore, O my God, to build all my trust
upon Thee. As Thou canst do all things, deign to implant in my
soul this virtue which I desire, and to obtain it from Thy
Infinite Mercy, I will often say to Thee: "Jesus, Meek and Humble
of Heart, make my heart like unto Thine."
_____________________________
[1] John 16:23.
[2] Ps. 39[40]:4.
[3] Cant. 4:6.
[4] Cf. Cant. 5:2.
[5] Cf. Isa. 53:3.
[6] Cf. Ps. 136[137]:4.
[7] Sister Mary of St. Peter entered the Carmel of Tours in 1840.
Three years later she had the first of a series of revelations
concerning devotion to the Holy Face as a means of reparation for
blasphemy. See _Life of Léon Papin-Dupont,_ known as "The Holy Man
of Tours."
[8] Matt. 10:34.
[9] Cf. Ps. 143[144]:1, 2.
[10] John 12:26.
[11] Matt. 11:29.
[12] Phil. 2:7.
[13] John 13:15-17.
[14] Cf. John 13:8.
_____________________________
MOTTO OF THE LITTLE FLOWER
From St. John of the Cross
"LOVE IS REPAID BY LOVE ALONE"
_____________________________
"MY DAYS OF GRACE"
Birthday . . . . January 2, 1873
Baptism . . . . January 4, 1873
The Smile of Our Lady . May 10, 1883
First Communion . . May 8, 1884
Confirmation . . . June 14, 1884
Conversion. . . . December 25, 1886
Audience with Leo XIII. November 20, 1887
Entry into the Carmel . April 9, 1888
Clothing . . . . January 10, 1889
Profession. . . . September 8, 1890
Taking of the Veil. . September 24, 1890
Act of Oblation . . June 9, 1895
[ENTRY INTO HEAVEN--September 30, 1897]
_____________________________
SELECTED POEMS OF SOEUR THÉRÈSE, THE LITTLE FLOWER OF JESUS
MY SONG OF TO-DAY
Oh! how I love Thee, Jesus! my soul aspires to Thee--
And yet for one day only my simple prayer I pray!
Come reign within my heart, smile tenderly on me,
To-day, dear Lord, to-day!
But if I dare take thought of what the morrow brings,
It fills my fickle heart with dreary, dull dismay;
I crave, indeed, my God, the Cross and sufferings,
But only for to-day!
O sweetest Star of Heaven! O Virgin, spotless, blest,
Shining with Jesus' light, guiding to Him my way!
Mother! beneath thy veil let my tired spirit rest,
For this brief passing day!
Soon shall I fly afar among the holy choirs,
Then shall be mine the joy that knoweth no decay;
And then my lips shall sing, to Heaven's angelic lyres,
The eternal, glad To-day!
June, 1894.
MEMORIES
Selected Stanzas
"I find in my Beloved the mountains, the lonely and wooded
vales, the distant isles, the murmur of the waters, the soft
whisper of the zephyrs . . . the quiet night with its sister
the dawn, the perfect solitude--all that delights and all
that fires our love."--St. John of the Cross.
I hold full sweet your memory,
My childhood days, so glad, so free.
To keep my innocence, dear Lord, for Thee,
Thy Love came to me night and day,
Alway.
. . . . . . .
I loved the swallows' graceful flight,
The turtle doves' low chant at night,
The pleasant sound of insects gay and bright,
The grassy vale where doth belong
Their song.
. . . . . . .
I loved the glow-worm on the sod;
The countless stars, so near to God,
But most I loved, in all the sky abroad,
The shining moon of silver bright,
At night.
. . . . . . .
The grass is withered in its bed;
The flowers within my hands are dead.
Would that my weary feet, Jesu! might tread
Thy Heavenly Fields, and I might be
With Thee!
. . . . . . .
My rainbow in the rain-washed skies--
Horizon where my suns arise--
My isle in far-off seas--pearl I most prize--
Sweet spring and butterflies--I see
In Thee!
. . . . . . .
In Thee I have the springs, the rills,
The mignonette, the daffodils,
The Eglantine, the harebell on the hills,
The trembling poplar, sighing low
And slow.
. . . . . . .
The lovely lake, the valley fair
And lonely in the lambent air,
The ocean touched with silver everywhere--
In Thee their treasures, all combined,
I find.
. . . . . . .
I go to chant, with Angel-throngs,
The homage that to Thee belongs.
Soon let me fly away, to join their songs!
Oh, let me die of love, I pray,
One day!
. . . . . . .
I hear, e'en I, Thy last and least,
The music from Thy Heavenly Feast;
There, deign receive me as Thy loving guest
And, to my harp, let me but sing,
My King!
. . . . . . .
Unto the Saints I shall be near,
To Mary, and those once treasured here.
Life is all past, and dried is every tear;
To me my home again is given--
In Heaven.
April 28, 1895.
I THIRST FOR LOVE
In wondrous Love, Thou didst come down from Heaven
To immolate Thyself, O Christ, for me;
So, in my turn, my love to Thee is given--
I wish to suffer and to die for Thee.
Thou, Lord, didst speak this truth benign:
"To die for one loved tenderly,
Of greatest love on earth is sign";
And now, such love is mine--
Such love for Thee!
Do Thou abide with me, O Pilgrim blest!
Behind the hill fast sinks the dying day.
Helped by Thy Cross, I mount the rocky crest;
Oh, come, to guide me on my Heavenward Way.
To be like Thee is my desire;
Thy Voice finds echo in my soul.
Suffering I crave! Thy words of fire
Lift me above earth's mire,
And sin's control.
Chanting Thy victories, gloriously sublime,
The Seraphim--all Heaven--cry to me,
That even Thou, to conquer sin and crime,
Upon this earth a sufferer needs must be.
For me upon life's dreary way
What scorn, what anguish, Thou didst bear!
Let me but hide me day by day,
Be least of all, alway,
Thy lot to share.
Ah, Christ! Thy great example teaches me
Myself to humble, honours to despise.
A little one--as Thou--I choose to be,
Forgetting self, so I may charm Thine Eyes.
My peace I find in solitude,
Nor ask I more, dear Lord, than this:
Be Thou my sole beatitude,
And ever--in Thee--renewed
My joy, my bliss!
Thou, the great God Whom earth and Heaven adore,
Thou dwell'st a prisoner for me night and day;
And every hour I hear Thy Voice implore:
"I thirst--I thirst--I thirst--for love alway!"
I, too, Thy prisoner am I;
I, too, cry ever unto Thee
Thine own divine and tender cry:
"I thirst!" Oh, let me die
Of love for Thee.
For love of Thee I thirst! fulfil my hope;
Augment in me Thine own celestial flame!
For love of Thee I thirst! too scant earth's scope:
The glorious Vision of Thy Face I claim!
My long, slow martyrdom of fire
Still more and more consumeth me.
Thou art my joy, my one desire,
Jesu! may I expire
Of love for Thee.
April 30, 1896.
TO SCATTER FLOWERS
O Jesus! O my Love! each eve I come to fling
My springtide roses sweet before Thy Cross divine;
By their plucked petals fair, my hands so gladly bring,
I long to dry Thine every tear!
To scatter flowers!--that means each sacrifice:
My lightest sighs and pains, my heaviest, saddest hours,
My hopes, my joys, my prayers--I will not count the price--
Behold my flowers!
With deep untold delight Thy beauty fills my soul,
Would I might light this love in hearts of all who live!
For this, my fairest flowers, all things in my control,
How fondly, gladly would I give!
To scatter flowers!--behold my chosen sword
For saving sinners' souls and filling Heaven's bowers:
The victory is mine--yea, I disarm Thee, Lord,
With these my flowers!
The petals in their flight caress Thy Holy Face;
They tell Thee that my heart is Thine, and Thine alone.
Thou knowest what these leaves are saying in my place:
On me Thou smilest from Thy Throne.
To scatter flowers!--that means, to speak of Thee--
My only pleasure here, where tears fill all the hours;
But soon, with Angel Hosts, my spirit shall be free
To scatter flowers.
June 28, 1896.
WHY I LOVE THEE, MARY!
Last Poem written by Soeur Thérèse
Concluding Stanzas
Henceforth thy shelter in thy woe was John's most humble dwelling;
The son of Zebedee replaced the Son Whom Heaven adored.
Naught else the Gospels tell us of thy life, in grace excelling;
It is the last they say of thee, sweet Mother of my Lord!
But oh! I think that silence means that, high in Heaven's Glory,
When time is past, and to their House thy children safe are
come,
The Eternal Word, my Mother dear, Himself will tell thy story,
To charm our souls--thy children's souls--in our Eternal Home.
Soon I shall hear that harmony, that blissful, wondrous singing;
Soon, unto Heaven that waits for us, my soul shall swiftly fly.
O thou who cam'st to smile on me at dawn of life's beginning!
Come once again to smile on me . . . Mother! the night is nigh.
I fear no more thy majesty, so far removed above me,
For I have suffered sore with thee: now hear me, Mother mild!
Oh, let me tell thee face to face, dear Mary! how I love thee;
And say to thee for evermore: I am Thy little child.
May 1897.
NOTE.--The above poems are reprinted from the translation of the
Little Flower's poems made by Susan L. Emery, of Dorchester,
Mass.,
U.S.A., and published by the Carmel of Boston. [Ed.]