LT 36 - To Agnes of Jesus - November 20, 1887

November 20, 1887

My dear little Pauline,

God is making me pass through real trials before having me enter Carmel. I am going to tell you how my visit with the pope went. Oh! Pauline, if you could only have read my heart, you would have seen there a great confidence. I believe I did what God wanted me to do, and now there remains nothing for me to do but to pray.

Monseigneur was not there. M. Révérony was taking his place. For you to get an idea of the audience it would be necessary for you to be there. The pope was seated on a large chair, very high. M. Révérony was very close to him; he was looking at the pilgrims who were passing in front of the pope after kissing his foot, and he was saying a word about some of them. You can imagine how my heart was beating when seeing my turn come, but I did not want to return to my place without having spoken to the pope. I said what you were telling me in your letter but not all, for M. Révé­rony did not give me time. He said immediately: "Most Holy Father, this is a child who wants to enter Carmel at fifteen, but the superiors are considering the matter at this moment." (The good pope is so old that one would say he is dead; I would never have pictured him like this. He can hardly say anything. It is M. Révérony who talks.) I would have liked to be able to explain my business, but there was no way. The Holy Father said simply: "If God wills it, you will enter." Then they made me pass into anoth­er room. Oh! Pauline, I cannot tell you what I felt. I was crushed. I felt I was abandoned, and, then, I am so far, so far.... I was crying a lot when writing this letter; my heart is heavy. However, God cannot give me trials that are above my strength. He has given me the courage to bear this trial. Oh! it is very great. . . . But, Pauline, I am the Child Jesus' little ball; if He wishes to break His toy, He is free. Yes, I will all that He wills.

I have not written what I wanted to write. I can't write these things; I'd have to speak them. And, then, you are not going to read my letter for another three days. Oh! Pauline, I have only God, Him alone, Him alone...Adieu, dear Pauline. I can't speak to you any longer. I am afraid Papa may come and ask me to read my letter, and this is impossible.'
Pray for your little girl.
I would really like to write to dear Mother, but I can't this eve­ning. Ask her to pray for her poor Thérésita.
Kiss dear Marie for me. I have written this letter also for her, but I prefer to speak to only one person. I hope she will under­stand her little Thérésita. I haven't the time to read my letter over. It is certainly filled with mistakes. Pardon me.

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