Part 7 (1/2)
[2] Luke 5:5.
[3] John 4:7.
[4] Eccl. 1:14.
[5] Ezechiel 16:8, 9, 13.
[6] Cf. _Imit.,_ III, ch. xliii. 4.
[7] Cf. Cant. 8:1.
[8] Luke 19:26.
[9] Cf. Luke 10:21.
[10] Cant. 2:3.
[11] Sister Agnes of Jesus.
[12] Cf. Matt. 18:6.
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CHAPTER VI A PILGRIMAGE TO ROME
Three days after the journey to Bayeux, I started on a much longer one--to the Eternal City. This journey taught me the vanity of all that pa.s.ses away. Nevertheless I saw splendid monuments; I studied the countless wonders of art and religion; and better than all, I trod the very ground the Holy Apostles had trodden--the ground watered by the blood of martyrs--and my soul grew by contact with these holy things.
I was delighted to go to Rome; but I could quite understand people crediting Papa with the hope that in this way I should be brought to change my mind about the religious life. It might certainly have upset a vocation that was not very strong.
To begin with, Celine and I found ourselves in the company of many distinguished people. In fact, there were scarcely any others in the pilgrimage; but, far from being dazzled thereby, t.i.tles seemed to us but a ”vapour of smoke,”[1] and I understood the words of the _Imitation:_ ”Be not solicitous for the shadow of a great name.”[2] I understood that true greatness is not found in a name but in the soul. The Prophet Isaias tells us: ”The Lord shall call His servants by another name,”[3] and we read in St. John: ”To him that overcometh I will give a white counter, and on the counter a new name written which no man knoweth but he that receiveth it.”[4] In Heaven, therefore, we shall know our t.i.tles of n.o.bility, and ”then shall every man have praise from G.o.d,”[5] and he who on earth chose to be poorest and least known for love of his Saviour, he will be the first, the n.o.blest, and the richest.
The second thing I learnt had to do with Priests. Up to this time I had not understood the chief aim of the Carmelite Reform. To pray for sinners delighted me; to pray for Priests, whose souls seemed pure as crystal, that indeed astonished me. But in Italy I realised my vocation, and even so long a journey was a small price to pay for such valuable knowledge. During that month I met with many holy Priests, and yet I saw that even though the sublime dignity of Priesthood raises them higher than the Angels, they are still but weak and imperfect men. And so if holy Priests, whom Our Lord in the Gospel calls the salt of the earth, have need of our prayers, what must we think of the lukewarm? Has not Our Lord said: ”If the salt lose its savour wherewith shall it be salted?”[6] Oh, dear Mother, how beautiful is our vocation! We Carmelites are called to preserve ”the salt of the earth.” We offer our prayers and sacrifices for the apostles of the Lord; we ourselves ought to be their apostles, while they, by word and example, are preaching the Gospel to our brethren. Have we not a glorious mission to fulfill? But I must say no more, for I feel that on this subject my pen would run on for ever.
Now let me describe my journey in some detail. At three o'clock in the morning of November 4, we pa.s.sed through the silent streets.
Lisieux still lay shrouded in the darkness of night. I felt that I was going out into the unknown, and that great things were awaiting me in Rome. When we reached Paris, Papa took us to see all the sights. For me there was but one--Our Lady of Victories. I can never tell you what I felt at her shrine; the graces Our Lady granted me were like those of my First Communion Day. I was filled with peace and happiness. In this holy spot the Blessed Virgin, my Mother, told me plainly that it was really she who had smiled on me and cured me. With intense fervour I entreated her to keep me always, and to realise my heart's desire by hiding me under her spotless mantle, and I also asked her to remove from me every occasion of sin.
I was well aware that during this journey I should come across things that might disturb me; knowing nothing of evil, I feared I might discover it. As yet I had not experienced that ”to the pure all things are pure,”[7] that a simple and upright soul does not see evil in anything, because evil only exists in impure hearts and not in inanimate objects. I prayed specially to St. Joseph to watch over me; from my childhood, devotion to him has been interwoven with my love for our Blessed Lady. Every day I said the prayer beginning: ”St. Joseph, Father and Protector of Virgins”
... so I felt I was well protected and quite safe from danger.
We left Paris on November 7, after our solemn Consecration to the Sacred Heart in the Basilica of Montmartre.[8] Each compartment of the train was named after a Saint, and the selection was made in honour of some Priest occupying it--his own patron or that of his parish being chosen. But in the presence of all the pilgrims our compartment was named after St. Martin! My Father, deeply touched by this compliment, went at once to thank Mgr. Legoux, Vicar-General of Coutances and director of the pilgrimage. From this onwards he was often called ”Monsieur Saint Martin.”
Father Reverony watched my behaviour closely. I could tell that he was doing so; at table, if I were not opposite to him, he would lean forward to look at me and listen to what I was saying. I think he must have been satisfied with his investigations, for, towards the end of the journey, he seemed more favourably disposed. I say towards the end, for in Rome he was far from being my advocate, as I will tell you presently. Still I would not have it thought he deceived me in any way by falling short of the good will he had shown at Bayeux. On the contrary, I am sure that he always felt kindly towards me, and that if he opposed my wishes it was only to put me to the test.
On our way into Italy we pa.s.sed through Switzerland, with its high mountains, their snowy peaks lost in the clouds, its rus.h.i.+ng torrents, and its deep valleys filled with giant ferns and purple heather. Great good was wrought in my soul by these beauties of nature so abundantly scattered abroad. They lifted it to Him Who had been pleased to lavish such masterpieces upon this transient earth.
Sometimes we were high up the mountain side, while at our feet an unfathomable abyss seemed ready to engulf us. A little later we were pa.s.sing through a charming village with its cottages and graceful belfry, above which light fleecy clouds floated lazily.
Farther on a great lake with its blue waters, so calm and clear, would blend with the glowing splendour of the setting sun. I cannot tell you how deeply I was impressed with this scenery so full of poetry and grandeur. It was a foretaste of the wonders of Heaven. Then the thought of religious life would come before me, as it really is, with its constraints and its little daily sacrifices made in secret. I understood how easily one might become wrapped in self and forget the sublime end of one's vocation, and I thought: ”Later on, when the time of trial comes, when I am enclosed in the Carmel and shall only be able to see a little bit of sky, I will remember this day and it will encourage me. I will make light of my own small interests by thinking of the greatness and majesty of G.o.d; I will love Him alone, and will not be so foolish as to attach myself to the fleeting trifles of this world, now that my heart has had a glimpse of what is reserved for those who love Him.”
After having contemplated the works of G.o.d, I turned next to admire those of His creatures. Milan was the first Italian town we visited, and we carefully studied its Cathedral of white marble, adorned with countless statues. Celine and I left the timid ones, who hid their faces in fear after climbing to the first stage, and, following the bolder pilgrims, we reached the top, from whence we viewed the city below. When we came down we started on the first of our expeditions; these lasted the whole month of the pilgrimage, and quite cured me of a desire to be always lazily riding in a carriage.
The ”Campo Santo”[9] charmed us. The whole vast enclosure is covered with marble statues, so exquisitely carved as to be life-like, and placed with an apparent negligence that only enhances their charm. You feel almost tempted to console the imaginary personages that surround you, their expression so exactly portrays a calm and Christian sorrow. And what works of art! Here is a child putting flowers on its father's grave--one forgets how solid is marble--the delicate petals appear to slip through its fingers. Sometimes the light veils of the widows, and the ribbons of the young girls, seem floating on the breeze.