Once Isidore was established in Lisieux, his relationship with Zélie was on a more equal footing. “I have known you for a long time,” she wrote to him, “and I know you love me and have a good heart. If I needed you, I am sure you would not let me down. Our friendship is sincere; it does not consist in pretty words, that is true, but it is no less solid and is built on stone. Neither time, nor any person, nor even death will ever destroy it.”28 All the letters she sent him showed this same affection.
Zélie shared in all her brother’s sentiments: When he lost a child she cried as though she had lost one of her own. She often wanted to spend a few days at her brother’s home in Lisieux—for her, and then for her children, going there was always a holiday. Isidore was also the medical adviser for the family, although he wasn’t always happy about that. The family submitted all minor health problems to him for his judgment, and then heeded it in a trusting manner.
The Martins, for their part, gave whatever help they could to the Guérin family: advice, monetary loans, and clients sent his way. The distance between the families was difficult to overcome, especially because each family was working and had babies, but the bond between them was nourished by frequent mail and always remained strong. The letters from Lisieux were read, reread, and passed around the family. And Zélie at times didn’t hesitate to get up at 4:30 a.m. to answer them. This bond was so strong for Zélie that in 1875 she wrote about Isidore and his family: “If I did not have a home and children here, I would live only for them, and I would give them all the money I earned. But since I cannot do that, God will provide.”29
Louis and Zélie’s life together evolved in the heart of the parish and the different Catholic circles where they visited with their few but close friends. The Romet, Maudelonde, Boul, and Leriche families and Mrs. Leconte regularly visited them on Rue du Pont-Neuf and, after 1871, at 34 Rue Saint-Blaise. Their second home—a small, charming, middle-class house facing the prefecture that can still be visited today—would be Thérèse’s first home and Zélie’s last. Zélie commented: “We are wonderfully settled in here. My husband has set up everything in a way that would please me.”30
As for worldly outings, they had few. Soon after their marriage, the young couple preferred intimate meetings instead of shallow balls at big parties. Zélie depicted the ridiculousness of high society when writing about an upcoming ball: “I know many young women who have their heads on backwards. There are some—can you believe it!—who make seamstresses come from Le Mans to sew their dresses for fear that the dressmakers in Alençon would reveal what their dresses look like before the celebration takes place. Isn’t that ludicrous?”31
Her letters are sometimes in the style of Madame de Sévigné32: she enjoyed relating pithy anecdotes to amuse the family in Lisieux about all the scenes in Alençon that struck her. But she was always able to recognize her own faults: “I had the cowardice to mock Mrs. Y. I have infinite regret about that. I don’t know why I have no sympathy for her since she’s been nothing but good and helpful to me. I, who detest ingrates, can only detest myself now since I am nothing but a real ingrate myself. I want to convert in earnest and I’ve begun to do that, since for some time now I take every opportunity to say nice things about this lady. That’s much more easily done since she is an excellent person who is worth more than all those who mock her, starting with me!”33
Louis and Zélie weren’t turned in on themselves but instead were attentive to what was happening around them. They read La Croix34 regularly, staying informed about local and national political developments because the anticlericalism of the time placed Catholics in jeopardy. Zélie was shocked to learn about the assassination of the archbishop of Paris and sixty-four priests during the time of the Commune. Listening to the prognosticators of ill omen, she feared for several months there would be a revolution. But her good sense won out: “The troubles have not come as predicted. I do not expect any will come for this year, and I have firmly decided not to listen to any prophet or prediction. I’m starting to become a very skeptical person.”35 After this experience, like other women in her time, she left politics to her husband. “I pay no more attention to external events than my little Thérèse does,”36 she wrote in 1874 when Thérèse was one year old.
Louis discussed politics with his friends and his brother-in-law and later even tried to introduce his views on the subject to Thérèse. Thérèse concluded, although we can doubt her objectivity, that if her father had been the king of France, things would have gone the best way possible in the best of all worlds. Meanwhile, Louis didn’t get involved in politics. His fight was on another level. He preferred concrete assistance to the poor around him rather than the grand declarations of leaders, and he preferred prayer rather than demonstrations. This is one reason that after the war in 1870 he joined 20,000 participants in an enormous pilgrimage to Chartres to pray for the nation. He had to sleep in an underground chapel where Masses were being said all night. He went back there again in 1873 and wrote to Pauline, “Pray hard, little one, for the success of the pilgrimage to Chartres that I want to be part of; it will bring numerous pilgrims in our beautiful France to the feet of the Blessed Virgin so that we may obtain the graces that our country needs so much in order to be worthy of its past.”37 There is no doubt that he would have resonated with St. John Paul II’s famous question, “France, eldest daughter of the Church, what have you done with your baptism?”38
Louis and Zélie were Catholics of their time for whom faith and patriotism were intertwined, living in fear of the anticlerical left and at the same time holding a firm conviction that the Lord was sustaining their country. The anticlericalism was a reality, though we have only a dim idea of it today. Louis, when he returned from a pilgrimage to Lourdes in 1873, was mocked in the train station in Lisieux because he was wearing a little red cross, and he was almost taken to the police station under the pretext that the mayor had forbidden pilgrims from coming back in procession. The disputes between Catholics and anticlerical groups increased during their lives, but in dealing with them the Martins always affirmed their faith in a nonviolent way.
10 CF 192.
11 Ibid.
12 CF 13.
13 CF 192.
14 CF 1.
15 CF 108.