The Story of a Soul Part 24

Joseph were well aware that Jesus was G.o.d, while at the same time great wonders were hidden from them, and--like us--they lived by faith. You have heard those words of the Gospel: 'They understood not the word that He spoke unto them';[15] and those others no less mysterious: 'His Father and Mother were wondering at those things which were spoken concerning Him.'[16] They seemed to be learning something new, for this word 'wondering' implies a certain amount of surprise."

"There is a verse in the Divine Office which I recite each day with reluctance: 'I have inclined my heart to do Thy justifications for ever, because of the reward.'[17] I hasten to add in my heart: 'My Jesus, Thou knowest I do not serve Thee for sake of reward, but solely out of love, and a desire to win Thee souls."

"In Heaven only shall we be in possession of the clear truth. On earth, even in matters of Holy Scripture, our vision is dim. It distresses me to see the differences in its translations, and had I been a Priest I would have learned Hebrew, so as to read the Word of G.o.d as He deigned to utter it in human speech."

Soeur Therese often spoke to me of a well-known toy with which she had amused herself when a child. This was the kaleidoscope, shaped like a small telescope, through which, as it is made to revolve, one perceives an endless variety of pretty-coloured figures.

"This toy," she said, "excited my admiration, and I wondered what could provide so charming a phenomenon, when one day, after a lengthy examination, I found that it consisted simply of tiny bits of paper and cloth scattered inside. A further examination revealed that there were three mirrors inside the tube, and the problem was solved. It became for me the ill.u.s.tration of a great truth.

"So long as our actions, even the most trivial, remain within Love's kaleidoscope, so long the Blessed Trinity, figured by the three mirrors, imparts to them a wonderful brightness and beauty.

The eye-piece is Jesus Christ, and He, looking from outside through Himself into the kaleidoscope, finds perfect all our works. But, should we leave that ineffable abode of Love, He would see but the rags and chaff of unclean and worthless deeds."

I told Soeur Therese of the strange phenomena produced by magnetism on persons who surrender their will to the hypnotiser.

It seemed to interest her greatly, and next day she said to me: "Your conversation yesterday did me so much good! How I long to be hypnotised by Our Lord! It was my waking thought, and verily it was sweet to surrender Him my will. I want Him to take possession of my faculties in such wise that my acts may no more be mine, or human, but Divine--inspired and guided by the Spirit of Love."

Before my profession I received through my saintly Novice-mistress a very special grace. We had been washing all day. I was worn-out with fatigue and hara.s.sed with spiritual worries. That night, before meditation, I wanted to speak to her, but she dismissed me with the remark: "That is the bell for meditation, and I have not time to console you; besides, I see plainly that it would be useless trouble. For the present, G.o.d wishes you to suffer alone."

I followed her to meditation so discouraged that, for the first time, I doubted of my vocation. I should never be able to be a Carmelite. The life was too hard.

I had been kneeling for some minutes, when all at once, in the midst of this interior struggle--without having asked or even wished for peace--I felt a sudden and extraordinary change of soul. I no longer knew myself. My vocation appeared to me both lovely and lovable. I saw the sweetness and priceless value of suffering. All the privations and fatigues of the religious life appeared to me infinitely preferable to worldly pleasures, and I came away from my meditation completely transformed.

Next day I told my Mistress what had taken place, and, seeing she was deeply touched, I begged to know the reason. "G.o.d is good,"

she exclaimed. "Last evening you inspired me with such profound pity that I prayed incessantly for you at the beginning of meditation. I besought Our Lord to bring you comfort, to change your dispositions, and show you the value of suffering. He has indeed heard my prayers."

Being somewhat of a child in my ways, the Holy Child--to help me in the practice of virtue--inspired me with the thought of amusing myself with Him, and I chose the game of _ninepins._ I imagined them of all sizes and colours, representing the souls I wished to reach. The ball was--_love._

In December, 1896, the novices received, for the benefit of the Foreign Missions, various trifles towards a Christmas tree, and at the bottom of the box containing them was a _top_--a rare thing in a Carmelite convent. My companions remarked: "What an ugly thing!--of what use will it be?" But I, who knew the game, caught hold of it, exclaiming: "Nay, what fun! it will spin a whole day without stopping if it be well whipped"; and thereupon I spun it around to their great surprise.

Soeur Therese was quietly watching us, and on Christmas night, after midnight Ma.s.s, I found in our cell the famous top, with a delightful letter addressed as follows:

_To My Beloved Little Spouse_

_Player of Ninepins on the Mountain of Carmel_

_Christmas Night, 1896._

MY BELOVED LITTLE SPOUSE,--I am well pleased with thee! All the year round thou hast amused Me by playing at _ninepins._ I was so overjoyed that the whole court of Angels was surprised and charmed. Several little cherubs have asked me why I did not make them children. Others wanted to know if the melody of their instruments were not more pleasing to me than thy joyous laugh when a ninepin fell at the stroke of thy love-ball. My answer to them was, that they must not regret they are not children, since one day they would play with thee in the meadows of Heaven. I told them also that thy smiles were certainly more sweet to Me than their harmonies, because these smiles were purchased by suffering and forgetfulness of self.

And now, my cherished Spouse, it is my turn to ask something of thee. Thou wilt not refuse Me--thou lovest Me too much. Let us change the game. Ninepins amuse me greatly, but at present I should like to play at spinning a top, and, if thou dost consent, thou shalt be the top. I give thee one as a model. Thou seest that it is ugly to look at, and would be kicked aside by whosoever did not know the game. But at the sight of it a child would leap for joy and shout: "What fun! it will spin a whole day without stopping!"

Although thou too art not attractive, I--the little Jesus--love thee, and beg of thee to keep always spinning to amuse Me. True, it needs a whip to make a top spin. Then let thy Sisters supply the whip, and be thou most grateful to those who shall make thee turn fastest. When I shall have had plenty of fun, I will bring thee to join Me here, and our games shall be full of unalloyed delight.--Thy little Brother,

JESUS.

I had the habit of constantly crying about the merest trifles, and this was a source of great pain to Soeur Therese. One day a bright idea occurred to her: taking a mussel-sh.e.l.l from her painting table, and, holding my hands lest I should prevent her, she gathered my tears in the sh.e.l.l, and soon they were turned into merry laughter.

"There," she said, "from this onwards I permit you to cry as much as you like on condition that it is into the sh.e.l.l!"

A week, however, before her death I spent a whole evening in tears at the thought of her fast-approaching end. She knew it, and said: "You have been crying. Was it into the sh.e.l.l?" I was unable to tell an untruth, and my answer grieved her. "I am going to die,"

she continued, "and I shall not be at rest about you unless you promise to follow faithfully my advice. I consider it of the utmost importance for the good of your soul."

I promised what she asked, begging leave, however, as a favour, to be allowed to cry at her death. "But," she answered, "why cry at my death? Those tears will certainly be useless. You will be bewailing my happiness! Still I have pity on your weakness, and for the first few days you have leave to cry, though afterwards you must again take up the sh.e.l.l."

It has cost me some heroic efforts, but I have been faithful. I have kept the sh.e.l.l at hand, and each time the wish to cry overcame me, I laid hold of the pitiless thing. However urgent the tears, the trouble of pa.s.sing it from one eye to the other so distracted my thoughts, that before very long this ingenious method entirely cured me of my sensibility.

Owing to a fault which had caused Soeur Therese much pain, but of which I had deeply repented, I intended to deprive myself of Holy Communion. I wrote to her of my resolution, and this was her reply: "Little flower, most dear to Jesus, by this humiliation your roots are feeding upon the earth. You must now open wide your petals, or rather lift high your head, so that the Manna of the Angels may, like a divine dew, come down to strengthen you and supply all your wants. Good-night, poor little flower! Ask of Jesus that all the prayers offered for my cure may serve to increase the fire which ought to consume me."

"At the moment of Communion I sometimes liken my soul to that of a little child of three or four, whose hair has been ruffled and clothes soiled at play. This is a picture of what befalls me in my struggling with souls. But Our Blessed Lady comes promptly to the rescue, takes off _my soiled pinafore,_ and arranges my hair, adorning it with a pretty ribbon or a simple flower... . Then I am quite nice, and able, without any shame, to seat myself at the Banquet of Angels."

In the infirmary we scarcely waited for the end of her thanksgiving before seeking her advice. At first, this somewhat distressed her, and she would make gentle reproaches, but soon she yielded to us, saying: "I must not wish for more rest than Our Lord. When He withdrew into the desert after preaching, the crowds would come and intrude upon His solitude. Come, then, to me as much as you like; I must die sword in hand--'the sword of the Spirit, which is the Word of G.o.d.'"[18]

"Advise us," we said to her, "how to profit by our spiritual instructions." "Go for guidance with great simplicity, not counting too much on help which may fail you at any moment. You would then have to say with the Spouse in the Canticles: 'The keepers took away my cloak and wounded me; when I had a little pa.s.sed by them, I found Him whom my soul loveth.'[19] If you ask with humility and with detachment after your Beloved, the _keepers_ will tell you. More often, you will find Jesus only when you have pa.s.sed by all creatures. Many times have I repeated this verse of the Spiritual Canticle of St. John of the Cross:

'Messengers, I pray, no more Between us send, who know not how To tell me what my spirit longs to know. For they Thy charms who read--For ever telling of a thousand more--Make all my wounds to bleed, While deeper then before Doth an--I know not what!--my spirit grieve With stammerings vague, and of all life bereave.'"

"If, supposing the impossible, G.o.d Himself could not see my good actions, I would not be troubled. I love Him so much I would like to give Him joy without His knowing who gave. When He sees the gift being made, He is, as it were, obliged to make a return... . I should wish to spare Him the trouble."

"Had I been rich, I could never have seen a poor person hungry without giving him to eat. This is my way also in the spiritual life. There are many souls on the brink of h.e.l.l, and as my earnings come to hand they are scattered among these sinners. The time has never yet been when I could say: 'Now I am going to work for myself.'"

"There are people who make the worst of everything. As for me, I do just the contrary. I always see the good side of things, and even if my portion be suffering, without a glimmer of solace, well, I make it my joy."