Florence

The sadness of my soul did not hinder me from taking a lively interest in the holy places we were visiting. At Florence, I was happy to contemplate St. Magdalene of Pazzi in the Carmelite choir. They opened the big grille for us. As we did not know we would enjoy this privilege and many wanted to touch their rosaries to the Saint’s tomb, I was the only one who could put my hand through the grating which separated us from the tomb. And so everybody was carrying rosaries to me and I was very proud of my office. I always had to find a way of touching everything. At the Holy Cross Church in Rome, we were able to venerate several pieces of the true Cross, two thorns, and one of the sacred nails. The nail was enclosed in a magnificent golden reliquary which did not have a glass covering. I found a way of placing my little finger in one of the openings of the reliquary, and could touch a nail bathed in the blood of Jesus. Really, I was far too brazen! Happily, God, who knows the depths of our hearts, was aware that my intention was pure and for nothing in the world would I have desired to displease Him. I was acting toward Him like a child who believes everything is permitted and looks upon the treasures of its Father as its own.

I still cannot understand why women are so easily excommunicated in Italy, for every minute someone was saying: “Don’t enter here! Don’t enter there, you will be excommunicated!” Ah! poor women, how they are misunderstood! And yet they love God in much larger numbers than men do and during the Passion of Our Lord, women had more courage than the apostles since they braved the insults of the soldiers and dared to dry the adorable Face of Jesus. It is undoubtedly because of this that He allows misunderstanding to be their lot on earth, since He chose it for Himself. In heaven, He will show that His thoughts are not men’s thoughts,¹⁵⁵ for then the last will be first.¹⁵⁶ More than once during the trip I hadn’t the patience to await heaven to be first. One day when we were visiting a Carmelite monastery, not content with following the pilgrims in the outer galleries, I advanced into the inner cloisters, when all of a sudden I saw a good old Carmelite friar at a little distance making a sign for me to leave. But instead of going, I approached him and showing him the cloister paintings I made a sign that they were beautiful. He undoubtedly understood by the way I wore my hair and from my youthful appearance that I was only a child, so he smiled at me kindly and left. He saw he was not in the presence of an enemy. Had I been able to speak Italian I would have told him I was a future Carmelite, but because of the builders of the Tower of Babel it was impossible for me.