Pentecost 1883: Our Lady's Smile
The illness was undoubtedly the work of the devil, who, in his fury at this first entry into the Carmel , sought revenge on me for the great harm my family was to do him in the future. However, he did not know that the Queen of Heaven watched over her Little Flower faithfully, that she smiled at her from above, ready to stop the storm, just in the nick of time when her delicate and fragile stem was in danger of being broken once and for all. At the end of the year 1882, I began to suffer from constant headaches; they were bearable, however, and did not prevent me from continuing my studies. They lasted till the Easter of 1883. Just then Papa went to Paris with Marie and Leonie , and confided Celine and me to the care of our uncle and aunt.
One evening I was alone with my uncle, and he talked so tenderly of my mother and of bygone days that I was deeply moved and began to cry. My sensitivity touched him too; he was surprised that someone of my age would feel as I did. So the he was determined to do all he could to organise all sorts of distractions during the holidays. But God had other plans. That same evening my headache became very acute, and I was seized with a strange shivering, which lasted all night. My aunt, like a real mother, never left me for a second. She stayed near me all through my illness with such tender, loving and devoted care. You may imagine my poor father's grief when he returned from Paris to find me in that hopeless state. He thought I was going to die, but Our Lord must have told to him: "This illness will not lead to death, it occurred for the glory of God." Yes, God was glorified by this trial. He was glorified by the admirable resignation of my father and sisters, especially Marie. She suffered so much because of me! How grateful I am to that dear sister! She seemed to know my needs by instinct, for a mother's heart is more powerful than the science of the ablest doctors. I do not know how to describe that strange illness. I said things which I had never thought of. I did things as though I were being forced in spite of myself. I almost always seemed to be delirious, and yet I feel certain that I was never, even for a minute, deprived of the use of my reason. Often I remained in a state of extreme mental exhaustion for hours, unable to make the slightest movement. However, in the midst of this extraordinary torpor, I distinctly heard what was being said around me, even the softest whisper. I remember it still.
And what fears the devil inspired in me! I was afraid of absolutely everything. My bed seemed to be surrounded by frightful precipices. Nails in the wall looked like terrifying long, shrivelled fingers, blackened by fire, making me scream in terror. One day, while Papa stood looking at me in silence, his hat in his hand suddenly turned into some sort of horrible shape, and I was so frightened that my poor father went away sobbing. In the moments when the pain was less intense, my great delight was to weave garlands of daisies and forget-me-nots for Our Lady. It was the beautiful month of May - all nature seemed to be clothed with spring flowers - the Little Flower alone drooped and seemed as though it had withered forever. Yet she too had a shining sun, the miraculous statue of the Queen of Heaven. How often, so very often, did the Little Flower turn towards that blessed Star! One day I saw Papa coming into my room in the deepest distress, and I watched him walk over to where Marie stood and give her some money, asking her to write to Paris, and have a novena of Masses said at the Shrine of Our Lady of Victories, to obtain the cure of his poor little queen. Ah, I was so touched by seeing his faith and his love! How much I longed to get up and tell him that I was cured! Alas, my desires could not work a miracle, and I needed a big one to restore my health. Yes, I needed a great big miracle, and Our Lady of Victories herself worked this miracle.
One Sunday, during the novena (Whit Sunday, 1883), Marie went into the garden, leaving me with Leonie, who was reading near the window. After a few minutes, I began to call softly: "Marie! Marie!" Leonie, accustomed to hear me moan like that, paid no attention, so I called louder, until Marie came back to me. I saw her come into the room quite well, but, at first, I did not recognize her. I looked around myself. I glanced anxiously into the garden, still calling: "Marie! Marie!" What unutterable anguish that forceful struggle was, and Marie perhaps suffered even more than her poor little Therese. Finally, after vain efforts to make me recognize her, she whispered a few words to Leonie, and went away pale and trembling. Soon my dear Leonie carried me to the window. There I saw the garden, but still I did not recognize Marie, who walked slowly, held out her arms, smiling at me, and calling me tenderly: "Therese, dear little Therese!" That last attempt failed again, my dear sister came in again and knelt at the foot of my bed in tears. She turned towards the statue of Our Lady, and pleaded her with the fervor of a mother who begs for her child's life. Leonie and Celine joined Marie in prayer, and that cry of faith forced open the gates of Heaven. I too turned to my Heavenly Mother, finding no relief on earth and nearly dead with pain, begging Our Lady from the bottom of my heart to have pity on me. Suddenly, the statue came to life! The Virgin became very beautiful, so divinely beautiful that I shall never find words to describe her. The expression of Our Lady's face radiated an ineffable gentleness, goodness, and tenderness, but what touched me to the very depths of my soul was her gracious smile. Then, all my pain vanished; two big tears welled up in my eyes and flowed silently. Ah, they were indeed tears of unmixed heavenly joy. "Our Blessed Lady has come to me, she has smiled at me. How happy I am, but I shall tell no one, or my happiness might disappear!" Such were my thoughts. Then, without any effort, I lowered my eyes, and I recognized my darling Marie. She looked lovingly at me, seemed very agitated, and she appeared as if she doubted the grace that I had just received. Ah, indeed thanks to her prayers I had received the most unfathomable favor - a smile from the Blessed Virgin! Seeing my eyes fixed on the statue, she said to herself: "Therese is cured!" Yes, it was true. The Little Flower had come back to life again - a bright ray from Our Lady's glorious Sun had warmed and set her free forever from her cruel enemy. "The dark winter is past, the rain is over and gone," and the Virgin Mary's Little Flower became so strong that five years later she opened wide her petals on the fertile mountain of Carmel.
Excerpts from: The Story of a Soul: The Autobiography of Saint Therese (Chapter 3)
MULTIMEDIA : Il ritratto di San Luca -(Rogier van der Weyden, Pablo Casals)
Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of death.
One evening I was alone with my uncle, and he talked so tenderly of my mother and of bygone days that I was deeply moved and began to cry. My sensitivity touched him too; he was surprised that someone of my age would feel as I did. So the he was determined to do all he could to organise all sorts of distractions during the holidays. But God had other plans. That same evening my headache became very acute, and I was seized with a strange shivering, which lasted all night. My aunt, like a real mother, never left me for a second. She stayed near me all through my illness with such tender, loving and devoted care. You may imagine my poor father's grief when he returned from Paris to find me in that hopeless state. He thought I was going to die, but Our Lord must have told to him: "This illness will not lead to death, it occurred for the glory of God." Yes, God was glorified by this trial. He was glorified by the admirable resignation of my father and sisters, especially Marie. She suffered so much because of me! How grateful I am to that dear sister! She seemed to know my needs by instinct, for a mother's heart is more powerful than the science of the ablest doctors. I do not know how to describe that strange illness. I said things which I had never thought of. I did things as though I were being forced in spite of myself. I almost always seemed to be delirious, and yet I feel certain that I was never, even for a minute, deprived of the use of my reason. Often I remained in a state of extreme mental exhaustion for hours, unable to make the slightest movement. However, in the midst of this extraordinary torpor, I distinctly heard what was being said around me, even the softest whisper. I remember it still.
And what fears the devil inspired in me! I was afraid of absolutely everything. My bed seemed to be surrounded by frightful precipices. Nails in the wall looked like terrifying long, shrivelled fingers, blackened by fire, making me scream in terror. One day, while Papa stood looking at me in silence, his hat in his hand suddenly turned into some sort of horrible shape, and I was so frightened that my poor father went away sobbing. In the moments when the pain was less intense, my great delight was to weave garlands of daisies and forget-me-nots for Our Lady. It was the beautiful month of May - all nature seemed to be clothed with spring flowers - the Little Flower alone drooped and seemed as though it had withered forever. Yet she too had a shining sun, the miraculous statue of the Queen of Heaven. How often, so very often, did the Little Flower turn towards that blessed Star! One day I saw Papa coming into my room in the deepest distress, and I watched him walk over to where Marie stood and give her some money, asking her to write to Paris, and have a novena of Masses said at the Shrine of Our Lady of Victories, to obtain the cure of his poor little queen. Ah, I was so touched by seeing his faith and his love! How much I longed to get up and tell him that I was cured! Alas, my desires could not work a miracle, and I needed a big one to restore my health. Yes, I needed a great big miracle, and Our Lady of Victories herself worked this miracle.
One Sunday, during the novena (Whit Sunday, 1883), Marie went into the garden, leaving me with Leonie, who was reading near the window. After a few minutes, I began to call softly: "Marie! Marie!" Leonie, accustomed to hear me moan like that, paid no attention, so I called louder, until Marie came back to me. I saw her come into the room quite well, but, at first, I did not recognize her. I looked around myself. I glanced anxiously into the garden, still calling: "Marie! Marie!" What unutterable anguish that forceful struggle was, and Marie perhaps suffered even more than her poor little Therese. Finally, after vain efforts to make me recognize her, she whispered a few words to Leonie, and went away pale and trembling. Soon my dear Leonie carried me to the window. There I saw the garden, but still I did not recognize Marie, who walked slowly, held out her arms, smiling at me, and calling me tenderly: "Therese, dear little Therese!" That last attempt failed again, my dear sister came in again and knelt at the foot of my bed in tears. She turned towards the statue of Our Lady, and pleaded her with the fervor of a mother who begs for her child's life. Leonie and Celine joined Marie in prayer, and that cry of faith forced open the gates of Heaven. I too turned to my Heavenly Mother, finding no relief on earth and nearly dead with pain, begging Our Lady from the bottom of my heart to have pity on me. Suddenly, the statue came to life! The Virgin became very beautiful, so divinely beautiful that I shall never find words to describe her. The expression of Our Lady's face radiated an ineffable gentleness, goodness, and tenderness, but what touched me to the very depths of my soul was her gracious smile. Then, all my pain vanished; two big tears welled up in my eyes and flowed silently. Ah, they were indeed tears of unmixed heavenly joy. "Our Blessed Lady has come to me, she has smiled at me. How happy I am, but I shall tell no one, or my happiness might disappear!" Such were my thoughts. Then, without any effort, I lowered my eyes, and I recognized my darling Marie. She looked lovingly at me, seemed very agitated, and she appeared as if she doubted the grace that I had just received. Ah, indeed thanks to her prayers I had received the most unfathomable favor - a smile from the Blessed Virgin! Seeing my eyes fixed on the statue, she said to herself: "Therese is cured!" Yes, it was true. The Little Flower had come back to life again - a bright ray from Our Lady's glorious Sun had warmed and set her free forever from her cruel enemy. "The dark winter is past, the rain is over and gone," and the Virgin Mary's Little Flower became so strong that five years later she opened wide her petals on the fertile mountain of Carmel.
Excerpts from: The Story of a Soul: The Autobiography of Saint Therese (Chapter 3)
MULTIMEDIA : Il ritratto di San Luca -(Rogier van der Weyden, Pablo Casals)
Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of death.
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