07 - Story of a Soul by Saint Therese of Lisieux

Marie Francoise Therese Martin, lovingly known as The Little Flower, was born on January 2, 1873, in Alencon, France, to Louis Martin and Zelie Guerin. As the youngest of nine siblings, she faced profound loss early in life when her mother passed away when she was just three years old. The family relocated to Lisieux to be closer to relatives, setting the stage for Therese’s spiritual journey. At the tender age of 15, Therese entered the Carmelite convent in Lisieux on April 9, 1888, despite facing significant opposition. It was within those sacred walls that she penned her spiritual autobiography, LHistoire dune Ame (The Story of a Soul), out of obedience and love. Her sisters followed her path into religious life, with one joining her at the Carmel and another becoming a Poor Clare at the Visitation Convent in Caen. Thereses life was brief; she succumbed to tuberculosis on September 30, 1897, at the Carmel of Lisieux. Her legacy lives on, as she was beatified on April 29, 1923, and canonized on May 17, 1925. (Summary written by Ann Boulais.)

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Chapter six of the Story of a Soul. This is
a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain.
For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox dot org.
Recording by Anne Boulat, The Story of a Soul, The
Autobiography of Saint Herez of Le Sieux, translated by Thomas Taylor.

(00:23):
Chapter six, A pilgrimage to Rome. Three days after the
journey to bay You, 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

(00:44):
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 chain my mind
about the religious life. It might certainly have upset a
vocation that was not very strong to begin with. Selina

(01:07):
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 vapor of smoke Joel II, verse nineteen. And
I understood the words of the invitation be not solicitous
for the shadow of a great name imitation of Christ

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three twenty six two. And I understood that true greatness
is not found in a name, but in the soul.
The prophet Isaiah says, the Lord shall call his servants
by another name, Isaiah sixty five, verse fifteen. And we
read in Saint John to him that overcometh I will
give a white counter, and on the counter a new

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name written, which no man knoweth but he that receiveth
it Apocalypse two, verse seventeen. In heaven, therefore we shall
know our titles of noble ability. And then shall every
man have praise from God first Corinthians four, verse five.
And he who on earth chose to be poorest and
least known for love of his Savior, he will be

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the first, the noblest, and the richest. The second thing
I learned 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 soul seemed pure as crystal, That indeed astonished me.
But in Italy I realized my vocation, and even so

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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,

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what must we think of the lukewarm? Has not our
Lord said, if the salt lose its savor, wherewith shall
it be salted? Matthew five, verse thirteen, 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

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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 forever. Now let me describe my journey in
some detail. At three o'clock in the morning on November fourth,

(03:37):
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 grace is

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our Lady granted 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 fervor. I entreated her to keep
me always and to realize my heart's desire by hiding
me under her spotless mantle, and I also asked her

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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 Titus one,
verse fifteen, that a simple and upright soul does not
see evil in anything, because evil only exists in impure hearts,

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and not in inanimate objects. I prayed specially to Saint
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 Saint Joseph, father
and p pro chector of virgins. So I felt I
was well protected and quite safe from danger. We left

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Paris on November seventh, after our solemn consecration to the
Sacred Heart in the Basilica of Montmartrey. Footnote Montmartrey. The
Mount of Martyrs is the hill whereon Saint Denis, Apostle
and Bishop of Paris, was martyred with his two companions
in the third century. It was a famous place of

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pilgrimage in medieval times, and here Saint Ignatius and the
first Jesuits took their vows under the presidency of Marshall
mc mahon. The erection of the well known Basilica was
voted in eighteen seventy three by the French Chamber of
Deputies as a national act of reparation to the Sacred Heart.
Editor en footnote. Each compartment of the train was named

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after a saint, and the selection was made in honor
of some priests 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 Saint Martin.
My father, deeply touched by this compliment, went at once
to thank Monseigneur Legue, Vicar General of Countences and director

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of the Pilgrimage. From this onwards he was often called
Monsieur Saint Martin. Father Reveroni watched my behavior 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

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favorably 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 me at Bayeux. On
the contrary, I am sure that he always felt kindly
towards me, and that if he opposed my wishes, it

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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

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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

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its blue waters so calm and clear, would blend with
the glowing splendor of the setting sun. I cannot tell
you how deeply I was impressed with the 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

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understood how 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 caramel 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

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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 turn next to admire those of his creatures. Milan
was the first Italian town we visited, and we carefully

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studied its cathedral of white marble, adorned with countless statues.
Selina 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

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whole month of the pilgrimage, and quite cured me of
a desire to be always lazily writing in a carriage.
The Compo Santo Cemetery charmed us. The whole vast enclosure
is covered with marble statues so exquisitely carved as to
be lifelike, and placed with an apparent negligence that only
enhances their charm. You feel almost tempted to console the

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imaginary perconages 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

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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 in enthusiasts
these French people are? And yet he also was French.
I think the poor man would have done better to

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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

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look at 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.

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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 home, 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

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myself in the times of the martyrs, and gladly would
I have chosen this somber abode for my dwelling if
there had been any question of professing my faith. Presently,
the guide's voice roused me from my reverie, and I
crossed the bridge of size, so called because of the
SiGe uttered by the wretched prisoners as they passed from
their dungeons to sentence and to death. After leaving Venice,

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we visited Patawa, and there venerated the relic of Saint
Anthony's tongue. Then Bologna, where Saint Catharine'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 Loretto, our lady had chosen an
ideal spot in which to place her Holy house. Everything

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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
Loretto enchanting, and what shall I say of the Holy House?
I was overwhelmed with emotion when I realized that I
was under the very roof that had sheltered the Holy family.
I gazed on the same walls our Lord had looked on.

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I trod the ground, once moistened with the sweat of
Saint 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 wound.
I even put my rosary into the little parringer used
by the divine child. How sweet those memories. But our
greatest joy was to receive Jesus in his own house,

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and thus become his living temple, in the very place
which he had honored 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 Loretto, this altar was in the basilica,
which is built round the whole Holy House, enclosing it
as a precious stone might be enclosed in a casket

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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 favored us, for a
priest was on the point of celebrating Mass. We told

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him of our great wish, and he immediately asked for
two hosts, which he placed on the patent. 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

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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 in 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

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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
porter's calling Roma. The pilgrims caught up the cry and
repeated Roma, Roma. Then I knew it was not a dream.

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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. Whil stinn Rome, with its
hotels and shops, one might fancy oneself in Paris. This
drive in the Roman Campanna has left a specially delightful
impression on my mind. How shall I destribe the feelings

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which thrilled me when I gazed on the Colosseum. 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 center is

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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 into
the real Colosseum. No indeed, and I no longer listened
to the guy's explanations. One thought only filled my mind.

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I must reach the arena. We are told in the
Gospel that Saint Mary Magdalen remained close to the sepulcher
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

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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 apparel, so our joy increased in
proportion to the fatigue and danger we had to face
to attain the object of our desires. Celine more foreseeing

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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.

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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

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proud of our courage. From the Colosseum we went to
the catacombs, and there Celina and I laid ourselves down
in what had once been the tomb of Saint 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 Saint Cecilia, But on visiting the house
where she was martyred, and hearing her proclaimed Queen of Harmony,

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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 chill then desired

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aught but earthly pleasures. Saint Cecilia is like the spouse
in the canticles. I find in her the scriptural choir
in an armed camp. Footnote cross reference Cantacule seven verse
one and footnote. 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

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lay ever on her heart footnote Office of Saint Cecilia
and footnote, while in her heart reposed the spouse of Virgins.
Our visit to the church of Saint 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 refuse me, But God himself came to

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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? Saint
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
the thirteenth. I longed for yet dreaded that day, for

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on it depended my vocation. I had received no answer
from the bishop obey you, 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 may be tremble, for I must dare
speak to the Pope, and that in the presence of
many cardinals, archbishops and bishops. On Sunday morning, November twenty,

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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 fervid 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

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you a kingdom Luke twelve, verse thirty two. 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 disposed to you as my
father hath disposed to me a kingdom Luke twenty two,
Versas twenty nine. That is to say, I will give

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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. Footnote cross reference Matthew twenty, verse twenty
two en footnote ought not Christ to have suffered these things,
and so to enter into his glory Luke twenty four,

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verse twenty six. A massive thanksgiving followed, and then the
audience began. Leo the thirteenth, 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

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received his blessing. Then two of the noble guards 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 obey you. Father Reveroni,
who was standing at the Pope's right hand, told us
in a loud voice that he absolutely forbade any one

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to address the Holy Father. My heart beat fast. I
turned to Celine 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

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have a great favor 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 honor of your jubilee, will
you allow me to enter the Caramel when I am fifteen?
The Vicar General, surprised and displeased, said quickly, Holy Father,

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this is a child who desires to become a carmelite.
But the superiors of the Caramel are looking into the matter. Well,
my child, said his Holiness, 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

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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

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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
the thirteenth as the father of two Carmelites. The sovereign Pontiff,

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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
his father of four Carmelites 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

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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,

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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

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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. Some time before this took place,
I had offered myself to the child Jesus to be

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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,

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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 and threw it down, that he rolled it

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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 Saint Joseph's College, and there he met Father Reveroni.

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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 honor of
emitting from its crater a thick volume of smoke, accompanied

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by numerous loud reports. The traces of the devastation of
Pompey 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

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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

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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
roof 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 realize thoroughly that joy

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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

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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
Celine and I were alone, Monseigneur le Gout came to
the door of the carriage. He looked at me attentively
and smiling, said, well, how is our little carmelite. This

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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 Saint Francis and Saint Clair.
I lost the buckle of my belt in the monastery.
It took me some time to find it and put

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it back in place, and when I reached the door,
all the carriages had started, except one that belonged to
the Vicar General. Obay, you should I run after those
which were no longer in sight and so perhaps missed
the train? Or should I beg for a seat in
the carriage of Father Reveroni. I decided that this was
the wiser plan. I tried to hide my extreme embarrassment

(28:22):
and explain 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

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now and then interrupted his conversation to talk to me
about the carmel and promised that he would do all
in his power to realize 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 trusting creatures and could only lean on God himself.
And yet my distress did not hinder me from taking

(29:04):
a deep interest in the holy places we visited. In Florence,
we saw the shrine of Saint Mary Magdalene, a pasey
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

(29:25):
was not the first time I had obtained special favors.
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

(29:47):
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 Savior. 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

(30:07):
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. Further on,
we traveled 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,

(30:29):
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

(30:50):
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

(31:13):
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 feasts of Christmas dawned, still Jesus slept. He left

(31:34):
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

(31:56):
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

(32:17):
way did my beloved act with his little therese, after
he had tried her for a long time, he granted
all her desires. For my New Year's gift of eighteen
eighty eight, Jesus again gave me his cross. You told me,
dear mother, that you had had the bishop's answer since
December twenty eighth, the Feast of Holy Innocence, that he
authorized my immediate entry into the carmel, but that nevertheless,

(32:40):
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 and suffering, and still more so in

(33:01):
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

(33:21):
do not mean that I imitated the penances of the saints.
Far from resembling those beautiful souls who have practiced 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 practicing

(33:43):
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. End of Chapter six