Little doctor

I grasped easily the meaning of things I was learning, but I had trouble learning things word for word. As far as catechism was concerned, I received permission to learn it during my recreation periods almost every day of the year before my First Communion. My efforts were crowned with success and I was always first. If I lost my place accidentally by forgetting one single word, my sadness was shown by the bitter tears I shed, which Father Domin didn’t know how to stop. He was very much pleased with me (not when I was crying), and used to call me his little doctor because my name was Thérèse. Once, a student who followed me did not know the catechism question to ask of her companion. Father Domin, having made the rounds of all the students in vain, came back to me and said he was going to see if I deserved my place as first. In my profound humility this was what I was waiting for; and rising with great assurance I said everything that was asked of me, to the great astonishment of everybody. After my First Communion, my zeal for catechism continued until my leaving boarding school. I succeeded very well in my studies, was almost always first, and my greatest successes were history and composition. All my teachers looked upon me as a very intelligent student, but it wasn’t like that at Uncle’s house where I was taken for a little dunce, good and sweet, and with right judgement, yes, but incapable and clumsy.

I am not surprised at this opinion which Uncle and Aunt had of me, and no doubt still have, for I hardly ever spoke, being very timid. When I wrote anything, my terrible scrawl and my spelling, which was nothing less than original, did not make much of an impression on anyone. In the little tasks of sewing, embroideries, and others, I succeeded well, it is true, in the estimation of my teachers; but the stiff and clumsy way I held my work justified the poor opinion they had of me. I look upon this as a grace: God, wanting my heart for Himself alone, answered my prayer already “changing into bitterness all the consolations of earth.”⁷² I needed this all the more as I would not have been indifferent to praise. They often spoke highly of the intelligence of others in my presence, but of mine they never said a word, and so I concluded I didn’t have any and was resigned to see myself deprived of it.

My heart, sensitive ad affectionate as it was, would have easily surrendered had it found a heart capable of understanding it. I tried to make friends with little girls my own age, and especially with two of them. I loved them and they, in their turn, loved me insofar as they were capable. But alas! how narrow and flighty is the heart of creatures! Soon I saw my love was misunderstood. One of my friends was obliged to go back to her family and she returned to school a few months later. During her absence, I had thought about her, treasuring a little ring she had given me. When I saw my companion back again my joy was great, but all I received from her was a cold glance. My love was not understood. I felt this and I did not beg for an affection that was refused, but God gave me a heart which is so faithful that once it has loved purely, it loves always. And I continued to pray for my companion and I still love her. When I noticed Céline showing affection how to win the good graces of creatures, I was unable to succeed. O blessed ignorance! which has helped me avoid great evils! How can I thank Jesus for making me find “only bitterness in earth’s friendship!” With a heart such as mine, I would have allowed myself to be taken and my wings to be clipped, and then how would I have been able to “fly and be at rest?” ⁷³ How can a heart given over to the affection of creatures, I feel I cannot be mistaken. I have seen so many souls, seduced by this false light, fly like poor moths and burn their wings, and then return to the real and gentle light of Love that gives them new wings which are more brilliant and delicate, so that they can fly toward Jesus, that Divine Fire “which burns without consuming.”⁷⁴ Ah! I feel it! Jesus knew I was too feeble to be exposed to temptation; perhaps I would have allowed myself to be burned entirely by the misleading light had I seen it shining in my eyes. It was not so for me, for I encountered only bitterness where stronger souls met with joy, and they detached themselves from it through fidelity. I have no merit at all, then, in not having given myself up to the love of creatures. I was preserved from it only through God’s mercy!