Pauline was going to leave me

I have fallen a little behind in recalling that delightful and sweet memory, and now I must speak of the sorrowful trial that broke little Thérèse’s heart when Jesus took away her dear Mama, her tenderly loved Pauline!

I had said to Pauline, one day, that I would like to be a hermit and go away with her alone in a faraway desert place. She answered that my desire was also hers and that she was waiting for me to be big enough for her to leave. This was no doubt not said seriously, but little Thérèse had taken it seriously; and how she suffered when she heard her dear Pauline speaking one day to Marie about her coming entrance into Carmel. I didn’t know what Carmel was, but I understood that Pauline was going to leave me to enter a convent. I understood, too, she would not wait for me and I was about to lose my second Mother! Ah! how can I express the anguish of my heart! In one instant, I understood what life was; until then, I had never seen it so sad; but it appeared to me in all its reality, and I saw it was nothing but a continual suffering and separation. I shed bitter tears because I did not yet understand the joy of sacrifice. I was weak, so weak that I consider it a great grace to have been able to support a trial that seemed to be far above my strength! If I had learned of my dear Pauline’s departure very gently, I would not have suffered as much perhaps, but having heard about it by surprise, it was as if a sword were buried in my heart.

I shall always remember, dear Mother, with what tenderness you consoled me. Then you explained the life of Carmel to me and it seemed so beautiful! When thinking over all you had said, I felt that Carmel was the desert where God wanted me to go also to hide myself. I felt this with so much force that there wasn’t the least doubt in my heart; it was not the dream of a child led astray but the certitude of a divine call; I wanted to go to Carmel not for Pauline’s sake but for Jesus alone. I was thinking very much about things that words could not express but which left a great peace in my soul.

The next day, I confided my secret to Pauline; she considered my desires as the will of heaven and told me that soon I would go with her to see the Mother Prioress of the Carmel and that I must tell her what God was making me feel. A Sunday was chosen for this solemn visit, and my embarrassment was great when I learned that Marie Guérin was to stay with me since she was still small enough to see the Carmelites. I had to find a way, however, to remain alone with the Prioress and this is what entered my mind: I said to Marie that since we had the privilege of seeing Mother Prioress, we should be very nice and polite and to do this we would have to confide our secrets to her. Each one in turn was to leave the room and leave the other all alone for a moment. Marie took me on my word, and, in spite of her repugnance of confiding secrets she didn’t have, we remained alone, one after the other, with Mother Prioress.

Having listened to my great confidences, Mother Marie de Gonzague believed I had a vocation, but she told me they didn’t receive postulants at the age of nine and that I must wait till I was sixteen. I resigned myself in spite of my intense desire to enter as soon as possible and to make my First Communion the day Pauline received the Habit. It was on this day I received compliments for the second time. Sister Teresa of St. Augustine came to see me and did not hesitate to say that I was pretty. I had not counted on coming to Carmel to receive praises like this, and after the visit I did not cease repeating to God that it was for Him alone I wished to be a Carmelite.

I took great care to profit from my dear Pauline during the few weeks she still remained in the world. Every day, Céline and I bought her cake and candy, thinking that later on she would never eat these anymore; we were always by her side and never gave her a moment’s rest. Finally, October 2 arrived, a day of tears and blessings when Jesus gathered the first of His flowers, who was to be the Mother of those who would come to join her a few years later.

I still see the spot where I received Pauline’s last kiss; and then Aunt brought us to Mass, while Papa went to Mount Carmel to offer his first sacrifice. The whole family was in tears so that people who saw us coming into the church looked at us in surprise. But it was all the same to me and it didn’t prevent me from crying. I believed that if everything crumbled around me, I would have paid no attention whatsoever. I looked up at the beautiful blue skies and was astonished the Sun was shining with such brightness when my soul was flooded with sadness! Perhaps, dear Mother, you find I am exaggerating the pain I was experiencing? I readily admit that it should not have been as great, since I had the hope of finding you again in Carmel; but my soul was FAR from being mature, and I was to pass through many crucibles of suffering before attaining the end I so much desired.

October 2 was the day set for my return to the Abbey, and I had to go there in spite of my sadness. In the afternoon, Aunt came to get us to go to Carmel and I saw my Pauline behind the grille. Ah! how I suffered from this visit to Carmel! Since I am writing the story of my soul, I must tell my dear Mother everything, and I admit that sufferings which preceded your entrance were nothing in comparison with those which followed it. Every Thursday we went as a family to Carmel and I, accustomed to talk heart to heart with Pauline, obtained with great trouble two or three minutes at the end of the visit. It is understood, of course, that I spent them in crying and left with a broken heart. I didn’t understand that it was through consideration for Aunt that you were directing your words to Jeanne and Marie instead of speaking to your little girls. I didn’t understand and I said in the depths of my heart; “Pauline is lost to me!” It is surprising to see how much my mind developed in the midst of suffering; it developed to such a degree that it wasn’t long before I became sick.