The little plaything
I had offered myself, for some time now, to the Child Jesus as His little plaything. I told Him not to use me as a valuable toy children are content to look at but dare not touch, but to use me like a little ball of no value which He could throw on the ground, push with His foot, pierce, leave in a corner, or press to His heart if it pleased Him; in a word, I wanted to amuse little Jesus, to give Him pleasure; I wanted to give myself up to His childish whims. He heard my prayer.
At Rome, Jesus pierced His little plaything; He wanted to see what there was inside it and having seen, content with His discovery, He let His little ball fall to the ground and He went off to sleep. What did He do during His gentle sleep and what became of the little abandoned ball? Jesus dreamed He was still playing with His toy, leaving it and taking it up in turns, and then having seen it roll quite far He pressed it to His heart, no longer allowing it to ever go far from His little hand.
You understand, dear Mother, how sad the little ball was when seeing itself on the ground. Nevertheless, I never ceased hoping against all hope.152 A few days after the audience with the Holy Father, Papa, having gone to see good Brother Simeon, found Father Révérony there, who was friendly. Papa chided him gaily for not having aided me in my difficult undertaking, then he told his Queen’s story to Brother Simeon. The venerable old man listened to his recital with much interest, even took down notes, and said with emotion: “One doesn’t see this in Italy!” I believe this interview made a good impression on Father Révérony; afterward he never ceased proving to me that he was finally convinced of my vocation.
On the morrow of that memorable day, we had to leave early for Naples and Pompeii. In our honor, Mount Vesuvius made a lot of noise all day long; it allowed, along with its cannon shots, a thick cloud of smoke to escape. The traces it has left upon the ruins of Pompeii are frightening and are a manifestation of God’s power: “He looks at the earth and it trembles; he touches the mountains and they are reduced to smoke”153
I would have loved to take a walk all by myself in these ruins, meditating on the fragility of things human, but the number of travelers took away a great part of the charm of the destroyed city. At Naples it was just the opposite. The trip to the monastery of San Martino, placed on top of a hill dominating the whole city, was made magnificent by the great number of carriages drawn by two horses. Unfortunately, the horses took the bit into their own mouths and more than once I was convinced I had seen my last hour. The driver vainly repeated the magic word of Italian drivers: “Appipau! Appipau!”; the horses wanted to turn the carriage upside down. Finally, thanks to our guardian angels we arrived at our magnificent hotel in one piece.
During the course of the whole trip, we were lodged in princely hotels; never had I been surrounded with so much luxury. There’s no mistake about it: riches don’t bring happiness, for I would have been much happier under a thatched roof with the hope of Carmel in the offing, than in the midst of these sumptuous dwellings, these marble staircases, and silk tapestries, and all the while bitterness in my heart! Ah! I really felt it: joy isn’t found in the material objects surrounding us but in the inner recesses of the soul. One can possess joy in a prison cell as well as in a palace. The proof of this: I am happier in Carmel even in the midst of interior and exterior trials than in the world surrounded by the comforts of life, and even the sweetness of the paternal hearth!
My soul was plunged into sadness and still exteriorly I was the same, for I believed the request I made of the Holy Father was hidden; soon I was to be convinced of the opposite. Having remained alone in the car with Céline (the other pilgrims got off to eat during a short stop), I saw Monsignor Legoux, Vicar General of Coutances, open the door and looking at me with a smile, he said: “Well, how is our little Carmelite?” I understood then that the whole pilgrimage knew my secret; happily no one spoke to me about it, but I saw by their sympathetic way of looking at me that my request had produced no ill effect, on the contrary…