Much given to crying

I have said nothing of my close relationship with Céline and if I had to recount everything I would never come to an end. At Lisieux the roles had changed, for Céline had become a naughty little rascal and Thérèse was no longer anything but a sweet little girl, much given to crying. This did not prevent Céline and Thérèse from loving each other more and more, but at times there were little arguments. These were not of a serious nature and basically they were both of the same mind. I can truly say that never did my little sister cause me any trouble, but was always a ray of sunshine of me, giving me much joy and consolation. Who can say with what intrepidity she defended me at the Abbey when I was accused of something? She took such a good care of my health that I was wearied with her at times. What never wearied me, though, was to see her at play. She arranged our group of little dolls and conducted class like a truly clever teacher. She took care that her girls were always good, while mine were often put out of class because of bad behavior. She used to tell me all the new things she had just learned in class, which amused me very much; I looked upon her as a fountain of knowledge.

I had received the name: “Céline’s little girl,” and when she was irritated with me, her greatest sign of displeasure was to say: “You’re no longer my little girl; that’s over with, and I’ll always remember it!” All I had to do was to start crying like a Magdalene, begging her to consider me still as her “little girl.” Very soon she kissed me and promised me to remember nothing. To console me once she took one of her dolls and said: “My dear, embrace your Aunt!” The doll was in such a rush to embrace me tenderly that her two little arms went up my nose. Céline, who hadn’t done it purposely, looked at me stupefied; the doll was dangling from my nose. Aunt, of course, was not long in warding off the excessively tender embraces of her niece and began laughing heartily at such a strange incident.

It was most amusing to see us buying our New Year’s presents together at the bazaar, carefully staying out of each other’s way. Having ten sous to spend, we had to buy at least five of six different objects, and the contest was to see who would buy the most beautiful things. Delighted with our purchases, we waited impatiently for the first day of the year in order to offer each other our magnificent presents. The one who awakened before the other rushed to wish her a Happy New Year, and then they gave each other the gifts; each went into ecstasy over the treasures we bought for ten sous!

These little gifts afforded us almost as much pleasure as Uncle’s beautiful presents. But this was only the beginning of these joys. That day we were dressed as quickly as possible, and then we were on the watch to jump up on Papa’s neck; as soon as he came out of his room our shrieks of joy resounded through the whole house and this poor little Father appeared happy to see us so content. The gifts Marie and Pauline gave their little girls also gave them great joy, though the gifts had no great value. Ah! it was because we were not blasé at this age; our soul in all its freshness was expanding like a flower content to receive the morning’s dew. Our petals were swayed by the same breeze; what gave one joy or pain did exactly the same to the other. Yes, our joys were in common. I felt the especially on the beautiful day when Céline made her First Communion. I wasn’t going to the Abbey as yet because I was only seven, but I have preserved a very sweet memory of the preparation you, my dear Mother, had Céline make. You took her, each evening, on your knees and spoke to her of the great action she was about to perform; I listened eagerly in order to prepare myself also, but very often you told me to go away as I was too little. Then my heart was heavy and I thought four years was not too long to prepare to receive God.