Vacation at Trouville

And so, in reality, I had only Marie, and she was indispensable to me, so to speak. I told my scruples only to her and was so obedient that my confessor never knew my ugly malady. I told him just the number of sins Marie permitted me to confess, not one more, and could pass as being the least scrupulous soul on earth in spite of the fact that I was scrupulous to the highest degree. Marie knew, then, everything that went on in my soul, and she knew my desires for Carmel. I loved her so much I couldn’t live without her. Aunt invited us to come every year, each in our turn, to her place at Trouville, and I should have loved going there, but with Marie! When I didn’t have her with me, I was very much bored. Once I did enjoy going there, however, and it was the year of Papa’s trip to Constantinople.⁸³ To give us a little distraction (we were sad when we knew Papa was so far away), Marie sent us, Céline and me, to the seashore for two weeks. I enjoyed myself very much because I was with my Céline. Aunt provided us with all the amusements possible: donkey rides, fishing for eels, etc. I was still very much a child in spite of my twelve and a half years, and I remember the joy I had putting on some pretty sky-blue ribbons Aunt had given me for my hair; I also recall having confessed at Trouville even this childish pleasure which seemed to be a sin to me. I had an experience one evening that surprised me very much.

Marie [Guérin], who was almost always ailing, often whimpered; and then Aunt babied her, giving her all kinds of endearing names, but my dear little cousin continued her crying and said she had a headache. I, who had a headache almost every day⁸⁴ and didn’t complain, wanted to imitate Marie. So one evening, sitting in an armchair in the corner of the parlor, I set about the business of crying. Soon Jeanne and Aunt hurried over to me, asking me what the matter was. I answered like Marie: “I have a headache.” It seemed that complaining didn’t suit me, for I was unable to convince them that a headache would make me cry; instead of babying me, the spoke to me as to an adult, and Jeanne scolded me for lacking confidence in Aunt, for she was convinced something was bothering my conscience. Getting nowhere for all my trouble, I made the resolution never to imitate others again, and I understood the fable about “The donkey and the pet dog.” ⁸⁵ I was the donkey that saw the caresses the little dog was getting; he came and placed his clumsy hoof on the table to get his share of kisses. Although I didn’t get the blows of the cudgel like the poor animal, I did get what I deserved and this cured me for life of any desire to attract attention. The one effort I had made was far too costly!

The following year, that of my dear Marie’s departure for Carmel, Aunt invited me again but this time all alone, and I was so much out of my element that after two or three days I got sick and they had to bring me back to Lisieux.⁸⁶ My sickness, which they feared was serious, was only an attack of nostalgia for Les Buissonnets, for hardly had I put my foot in the house when my health returned. And it was from a child such as this that God was taking away the only support which attached me to life.