"If the greatest sinner on earth should repent at the moment of his death, and draw His last breath in an act of love, neither the many graces he had abused, nor the multiplied crimes he had committed, would stand in his way. Our Lord would see nothing, count nothing, but the sinner"s last prayer, and without delay He would receive him into the arms of His Mercy.
"But, to make Him thus blind and to prevent Him doing the smallest sum of addition, we must approach Him through His Heart--on that side He is vulnerable and defenceless."
I had grieved her, and had gone to ask her pardon: "If you but knew what I feel!" she exclaimed. "Never have I more clearly understood the love with which Jesus receives us when we seek His forgiveness. If I, His poor little creature, feel so tenderly towards you when you come back to me, what must pa.s.s through Our Lord"s Divine Heart when we return to Him? Far more quickly than I have just done will He blot out our sins from His memory... .
Nay, He will even love us more tenderly than before we fell."
I had an immense dread of the judgments of G.o.d, and no argument of Soeur Therese could remove it. One day I put to her the following objection: "It is often said to us that in G.o.d"s sight the angels themselves are not pure. How, therefore, can you expect me to be otherwise than filled with fear?"
She replied: "There is but one means of compelling G.o.d not to judge us, and it is--to appear before Him empty-handed." "And how can that be done?" "It is quite simple: lay nothing by, spend your treasures as you gain them. Were I to live to be eighty, I should always be poor, because I cannot economise. All my earnings are immediately spent on the ransom of souls.
"Were I to await the hour of death to offer my trifling coins for valuation, Our Lord would not fail to discover in them some base metal, and they would certainly have to be refined in Purgatory.
Is it not recorded of certain great Saints that, on appearing before the Tribunal of G.o.d, their hands laden with merit, they have yet been sent to that place of expiation, because in G.o.d"s Eyes all our justice is unclean?"
"But," I replied, "if G.o.d does not judge our good actions, He will judge our bad ones." "Do not say that! Our Lord is Justice itself, and if He does not judge our good actions, neither will He judge our bad ones. It seems to me, that for Victims of Love there will be no judgment. G.o.d will rather hasten to reward with eternal delights His own Love which He will behold burning in their hearts."
"To enjoy such a privilege, would it suffice to repeat that Act of Oblation which you have composed?" "Oh, no! words do not suffice.
To be a true Victim of Love we must surrender ourselves entirely.
... _Love will consume us only in the measure of our self-surrender."_
I was grieving bitterly over a fault I had committed. "Take your Crucifix," she said, "and kiss it." I kissed the Feet.
"Is that how a child kisses its father? Throw your arms at once round His Neck and kiss His Face." When I had done so, she continued: "That is not sufficient--He must return your caress." I had to press the Crucifix to both my cheeks, whereupon she added: "Now, all is forgiven."
I told her one day that if I must be reproached I preferred deserving it to being unjustly accused. "For my part," she replied, "I prefer to be charged unjustly, because, having nothing to reproach myself with, I offer gladly this little injustice to G.o.d. Then, humbling myself, I think how easily I might have deserved the reproach. The more you advance, the fewer the combats; or rather, the more easy the victory, because the good side of things will be more visible. Then your soul will soar above creatures. As for me, I feel utterly indifferent to all accusations because I have learned the hollowness of human judgment."
She added further: "When misunderstood and judged unfavourably, what benefit do we derive from defending ourselves? Leave things as they are, and say nothing. It is so sweet to allow ourselves to be judged anyhow, rightly or wrongly.
"It is not written in the Gospel that Saint Mary Magdalen put forth excuses when charged by her sister with sitting idle at Our Lord"s Feet. She did not say: "Martha, if you knew the happiness that is mine and if you heard the words that I hear, you too would leave everything to share my joy and my repose." No, she preferred to keep silent... . Blessed silence which giveth such peace to the soul!"
At a moment of temptation and struggle I received this note: ""The just man shall correct me in mercy and shall reprove me; but let not the oil of the sinner perfume my head."[10] It is only by the just that I can be either reproved or corrected, because all my Sisters are pleasing to G.o.d. It is less bitter to be rebuked by a sinner than by a just man; but through compa.s.sion for sinners, to obtain their conversion, I beseech Thee, O my G.o.d, to permit that I may be well rebuked by those just souls who surround me. I ask also that the _oil of praise,_ so sweet to our nature, _may not perfume my head,_ that is to say, my mind, by making me believe that I possess virtues when I have merely performed a few good actions.
"Jesus! "Thy Name is as oil poured out,"[11] and it is into this divine perfume that I desire wholly to plunge myself, far from the gaze of mankind."
"It is not playing the game to argue with a Sister that she is in the wrong, even when it is true, because we are not answerable for her conduct. We must not be _Justices of the peace,_ but _Angels of peace_ only."
"You give yourselves up too much to what you are doing," she used to say to us; "you worry about the future as though it were in your hands. Are you much concerned at this moment as to what is happening in other Carmelite convents, and whether the nuns there are busy or otherwise? Does their work prevent you praying or meditating? Well, just in the same way, you ought to detach yourselves from your own personal labours, conscientiously spending on them the time prescribed, but with perfect freedom of heart. We read that the Israelites, while building the walls of Jerusalem, worked with one hand and held a sword in the other.[12]
This is an image of what we should do: avoid being wholly absorbed in our work."
"One Sunday," Therese relates, "I was going toward the chestnut avenue, full of rejoicing, for it was spring-time, and I wanted to enjoy nature"s beauties. What a bitter disappointment! My dear chestnuts had been pruned, and the branches, already covered with buds, now lay on the ground. On seeing this havoc, and thinking that three years must elapse before it could be repaired, my heart felt very sore. But the grief did not last long. "If I were in another convent," I reflected, "what would it matter to me if the chestnut-trees of the Carmel at Lisieux were entirely cut down?" I will not worry about things that pa.s.s. G.o.d shall be my all. I will take my walks in the wooded groves of His Love, whereon none dare lay hands."
A novice asked her Sisters to help her shake some blankets. As they were somewhat liable to tear because of their worn condition, she insisted, rather sharply, on their being handled with care.
"What would you do," said Therese to the impatient one, "if it were not your duty to mend these blankets? There would be no thought of self in the matter, and if you did call attention to the fact that they are easily torn, it would be done in quite an impersonal way. In all your actions, you should avoid the least trace of self-seeking."
Seeing one of our Sisters very much fatigued, I said to Soeur Therese: "It grieves me to see people suffer, especially those who are holy." She instantly replied: "I do not feel as you do. Saints who suffer never excite my pity. I know they have strength to bear their sufferings, and that through them they are giving great glory to G.o.d. But I compa.s.sionate greatly those who are not Saints, and who do not know how to profit by suffering. They indeed awake my pity. I would strain every nerve to help and comfort them."
"Were I to live longer, it is the office of Infirmarian that would most please me. I would not ask for it, but were it imposed through obedience, I should consider myself highly favoured. I think I should fulfill its duties with much affection, always mindful of Our Lord"s words: "I was sick, and you visited Me."[13]
The infirmary bell should be for you as heavenly music, and you ought purposely to pa.s.s by the windows of the sick that it might be easy for them to summon you. Consider yourself as a little slave whom everyone has the right to command. Could you but see the Angels who from the heights of Heaven watch your combats in the arena! They are awaiting the end of the fight to crown you and cover you with flowers. You know that we claim to rank as _little Martyrs_ ... . but we must win our palms.
"G.o.d does not despise these hidden struggles with ourselves, so much richer in merit because they are unseen: "The patient man is better than the valiant, and he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh cities."[14] Through our little acts of charity, practised in the dark, as it were, we obtain the conversion of the heathen, help the missionaries, and gain for them plentiful alms, thus building both spiritual and material dwellings for Our Eucharistic G.o.d."
I had seen Mother Prioress showing, as I thought, more confidence and affection to one of our Sisters than she extended to me.
Expecting to win sympathy, I told my trouble to Soeur Therese, and great was my surprise when she put me the question: "Do you think you love our Mother very much?" "Certainly! otherwise I should be indifferent if others were preferred to me."
"Well, I shall prove that you are absolutely mistaken, and that it is not our Mother that you love, but yourself. When we really love others, we rejoice at their happiness, and we make every sacrifice to procure it. Therefore if you had this true, disinterested affection, and loved our Mother for her own sake, you would be glad to see her find pleasure even at your expense; and since you think she has less satisfaction in talking with you than with another Sister, you ought not to grieve at being apparently neglected."
I was distressed at my many distractions during prayers: "I also have many," she said, "but as soon as I am aware of them, I pray for those people the thought of whom is diverting my attention, and in this way they reap benefit from my distractions... . I accept all for the love of G.o.d, even the wildest fancies that cross my mind."
I was regretting a pin which I had been asked for, and which I had found most useful. "How rich you are," said Therese, "you will never be happy!"
The grotto of the Holy Child was in her charge, and, knowing that one of our Mothers greatly disliked perfumes, she never put any sweet-smelling flowers there, not even a tiny violet. This cost her many a real sacrifice. One day, just as she had placed a beautiful artificial rose at the foot of the statue, the Mother called her. Soeur Therese, surmising that it was to bid her remove the rose, was anxious to spare her any humiliation. She therefore took the flower to the good Sister, and, forestalling all observations, said: "Look, Mother, how well nature is imitated nowadays: would you not think this rose had been freshly gathered from the garden?"
"There are moments," she told us, "when we are so miserable within, that there is nothing for it but to get away from ourselves. At those times G.o.d does not oblige us to remain at home. He even permits our own company to become distasteful to us in order that we may leave it. Now I know no other means of exit save through the doorway of charitable works, on a visit to Jesus and Mary."
"When I picture the Holy Family, the thought that does me most good is--the simplicity of their home-life. Our Lady and St.