But if God allowed the devil to approach me in this open way, angels too were sent to console and strengthen me. Marie never left me, and never showed the least trace of weariness despite all the trouble I gave her — for I could not rest when she was away. During meals, when Victoire took care of me, I never ceased calling tearfully, “Marie! Marie!” When she wanted to go out, it was only if she were going to Mass or to see Pauline that I kept quiet. As for Léonie and my little Céline, they could not do enough for me. On Sundays they shut themselves up for hours with a poor child who seemed almost to have lost her reason. My own dear sisters, how much I made you suffer! My uncle and aunt were also devoted to me. My aunt came to see me every day and brought me many little gifts. I could never tell you how my love for these dear ones increased during this illness. I understood better than ever what Papa had so often told us: “Always remember, children, that your uncle and aunt have devoted themselves to you in a way that is quite exceptional.” In his old age he experienced this himself, and now he must bless and protect those who lavished upon him such affectionate care.11
When my sufferings grew less, my great delight was to weave garlands of daisies and forget-me-nots for Our Lady’s statue. We were in the beautiful month of May, when all nature is clothed with the flowers of spring; the Little Flower alone drooped and seemed as though it had withered forever. Yet she too had a shining sun: the miraculous statue of the Queen of heaven. How often did not the Little Flower turn toward this glorious Sun!
One day Papa came into my room in the deepest distress, and I watched him go to Marie and give her some money, bidding her write to Paris and have a novena of Masses said at the shrine of Our Lady of Victories12 to obtain the cure of his poor little Queen. How touching were his faith and love! How much I longed to get up and tell him I was cured! Alas! My wishes could not work a miracle, and it needed one to restore me to health. Yes, it needed a great miracle, and this was wrought by Our Lady of Victories herself.
One Sunday, during the novena, Marie went into the garden, leaving me with Léonie, who was reading by the window. After a short time I began to call “Marie! Marie!” very softly. Léonie, accustomed to hear me fret like this, took no notice, so I called louder until Marie came back to me. I saw her come into the room quite well, but for the first time I failed to recognize her. I looked all around and glanced anxiously into the garden, still calling: “Marie! Marie!” Her anguish was perhaps greater than mine, and that was unutterable. At last, after many fruitless efforts to make me recognize her, she whispered a few words to Léonie and went away pale and trembling. Léonie then carried me to the window. There I saw the garden, and Marie walking up and down, but still I did not recognize her; she came forward, smiling, and held out her arms to me, calling tenderly: “Thérèse, dear little Thérèse!” This last effort failing, she came in again and knelt in tears at the foot of my bed; turning toward the statue of Our Lady, she entreated her with the fervor of a mother who begs the life of her child and will not be refused. Léonie and Céline joined her, and that cry of faith forced the gates of heaven. I too, finding no help on earth and nearly dead with pain, turned to my heavenly Mother, begging her from the bottom of my heart to have pity on me. Suddenly the statue seemed to come to life and grow beautiful, with a divine beauty that I will never find words to describe. The expression of Our Lady’s face was ineffably sweet, tender, and compassionate; but what touched me to the very depths of my soul was her gracious smile. Then all my pain vanished, and two big tears came to my eyes and fell silently …
They were indeed tears of unmixed heavenly joy. “Our Blessed Lady has come to me — she has smiled at me. How happy I am, but I will tell no one, or my happiness will leave me!” Such were my thoughts. Looking around, I recognized Marie; she seemed very much overcome and looked lovingly at me, as though she guessed that I had just received a great grace.
Indeed, her prayers had gained me this unspeakable favor — a smile from the Blessed Virgin! When she saw me with my eyes fixed on the statue, she said to herself: “Thérèse is cured!” And it was true. The Little Flower had come to life again — a bright ray from its glorious Sun had warmed and set it free forever from its cruel enemy. “The dark winter is past, the rain is over and gone” (Cant [Sg, RSV] 2:11); and Our Lady’s Little Flower gathered such strength that five years later it opened wide its petals on the fertile mountain of Carmel.
As I said before, Marie was convinced that Our Blessed Lady, while restoring my bodily health, had granted me some hidden grace. So, when I was alone with her, I could not resist her tender and pressing inquiries. I was so astonished to find my secret already known without my having said a word that I told her everything. Alas! — as I had foreseen, my joy was turned into bitterness. For four years the remembrance of this grace was a cause of real pain to me, and it was only in the blessed sanctuary of Our Lady of Victories, at my mother’s feet, that I once again found peace. There it was restored to me in all its fullness, as I will tell you later.
This is how my joy was changed into sadness. When Marie had heard the childish but perfectly sincere account of the grace I had received, she begged my leave to tell them at the Carmel; and I did not like to refuse her. My first visit there after my illness was full of joy at seeing Pauline clothed in the habit of Our Lady of Carmel. It was a happy time for us both: we had so much to say, and we had both suffered so much. My heart was so full that I could hardly speak.
You were there, dear Mother, and plainly showed your affection for me; I saw several other Sisters too, and you must remember how they questioned me about my cure. Some asked if Our Lady was holding the Infant Jesus in her arms, others if the angels were with her, and so on. All these questions distressed and grieved me, and I could only make one answer: “Our Lady looked very beautiful; I saw her come toward me and smile.” But noticing that the nuns thought something quite different had happened from what I had told them, I began to persuade myself that I had been guilty of an untruth.
If only I had kept my secret, I would have kept my happiness also. But Our Lady allowed this trouble to befall me for the good of my soul; perhaps without it vanity would have crept into my heart, whereas now I was humbled, and I looked on myself with feelings of contempt. My God, Thou alone knowest all that I suffered!
Chapter IV
First Communion and Confirmation
While describing this visit to the Carmel, my thoughts are carried back to the first one I paid after Pauline entered. On the morning of that happy day, I wondered what name would be given to me later on. I knew that there was already a Sister Teresa of Jesus; nevertheless, my beautiful name of Thérèse could not be taken from me. Suddenly I thought of the Child Jesus whom I loved so dearly, and I felt how much I would like to be called Teresa of the Child Jesus. I was careful not to tell you of my wish, dear Mother, yet you said to me in the middle of our conversation: “When you come to us, little one, you will be called ‘Teresa of the Child Jesus.’” My joy was great indeed. This happy coincidence of thought seemed a special favor from the Holy Child.
So far I have not said anything about my love for pictures and books, and yet I owe some of the happiest and strongest impressions that have encouraged me in the practice of virtue to the beautiful pictures Pauline used to show me. Everything was forgotten while looking at them. For instance, “The Little Flower of the Divine Prisoner” suggested so many thoughts that I would remain gazing at it in a kind of ecstasy. I offered myself to Our Lord to be His Little Flower; I longed to console Him, to draw as near as possible to the Tabernacle, to be looked on, cared for, and gathered by Him.
As I was of no use at games, I preferred to spend all my time in reading. Happily for me, I had visible guardian angels to guide me in this matter; they chose books suitable to my age that interested me and at the same time provided food for my thoughts and affections. I was allowed only a limited time for this favorite recreation, and it became an occasion of much self-sacrifice — for as soon as the time had elapsed I made it my duty to stop instantly, even in the middle of a most interesting passage.
As to the impressions produced