stars in her hair were seven. That good and sweet affection wherewith thou art delighted now and then is a foretaste of the celestial country between the bed and the wall. She felt the prick and fell down upon the bed and lay there in a deep, deep sleep.
The Space Between the Bed and the Wall 65
THERESE MARTIN
When I received my Confirmation, which was not long after my First Communion, the bishop drew the mystic cross on my forehead, and I felt a gentle breeze entering my soul.
I had to return to school, and I felt myself to be set apart from my companions. During playtime I stood by a tree and thought of serious matters while the other girls skipped and laughed and whispered and played their frivolous games. When I buried dead birds some of the girls came to help me, and our cemetery was very pretty for we planted it with tiny shrubs. But in time I became so troubled by religious scruples that I could no longer go to school, and I went instead for private lessons to the home of Madame Papineau. There I used to overhear visitors remarking on how pretty I was, and what lovely hair I had. How very easy it would be to go astray. I remember once aching to go to confession, and not being able to rest until I had confessed my sinful pleasure at wearing a sky blue ribbon in my hair. At this time my beloved sister Marie went from me, from our home, into the convent at Lisieux. First Pauline, I thought, and now Marie.
So I then turned to my four dead brothers and sisters in heaven, four little angels, and I talked to them about my longing soon to join them in heaven.
I wore a sky blue ribbon in my hair. Blue is for boys. My sisters loved me, little baby sister, and from the first moment I swam with them. I swam in the sea with my sisters. But my father and mother were sorry to see me. Girl number six then is it? There was wailing and gnashing of teeth and tearing of garments and hair out by the roots. Where is our son, our baby blue-eyed son, our sun, our star? Where is our prince, our king, our namesake?
They murmured to each other in the dead of night. ‘Let us take her,’ they said, ‘to the top of yonder hill, and there we will leave her naked and cold, new and naked and cold as a toad. We will leave her in the icy starlight and the animals will come out at night to look at her and marvel as she weeps. The long-eyed fox will sink into her his wonderfully needled teeth. Rip her open and snap up her heart in one triumphant chomp. Drag her off 66
The White Garden
like a torn-up chicken. A fox with a box of chicken guts and chips tied up with a sky blue ribbon.’
Nobody wanted the me of me. For my sisters I was a plaything, a live doll, a squealing toy. They dressed me in fairy wings and made me stand on the windowsill behind and above the Christmas tree. I was the fairy on the Christmas tree, silver sparkling twinkling dazzling. Blinding. I said: ‘Do you think my hair is too short, too long?’ And they said it was just right for a girl of my age. I was flooded with torrents of light; I blazed with heat. I was a beacon, a roman candle, a bright star in the starry firmament. So they hoisted me up and put me on top of the tree, and they left me there. That was the sad part. Lonely at the top, people used to say. Yes, I found it very lonely indeed at the top.
I was unendurable company for others when Marie entered the convent. I wept a great deal — my eyes were frequently red and my lips swollen with distress. It needed God to perform another miracle to make me grow up and come to my senses.
On Christmas Day the Holy Child Jesus who was only one hour old, but wise beyond all wisdom, came to me and flooded my small soul with torrents of light. So, on Christmas Day, 1886, I emerged from childhood. I look back on my life now and I see that when I was four and my mother died, I lost the strength of my soul. But now my strength returned.
I was a roman candle, a catherine wheel and it was fireworks night. They pinned me
The Space Between the Bed and the Wall 65
THERESE MARTIN
When I received my Confirmation, which was not long after my First Communion, the bishop drew the mystic cross on my forehead, and I felt a gentle breeze entering my soul.
I had to return to school, and I felt myself to be set apart from my companions. During playtime I stood by a tree and thought of serious matters while the other girls skipped and laughed and whispered and played their frivolous games. When I buried dead birds some of the girls came to help me, and our cemetery was very pretty for we planted it with tiny shrubs. But in time I became so troubled by religious scruples that I could no longer go to school, and I went instead for private lessons to the home of Madame Papineau. There I used to overhear visitors remarking on how pretty I was, and what lovely hair I had. How very easy it would be to go astray. I remember once aching to go to confession, and not being able to rest until I had confessed my sinful pleasure at wearing a sky blue ribbon in my hair. At this time my beloved sister Marie went from me, from our home, into the convent at Lisieux. First Pauline, I thought, and now Marie.
So I then turned to my four dead brothers and sisters in heaven, four little angels, and I talked to them about my longing soon to join them in heaven.
I wore a sky blue ribbon in my hair. Blue is for boys. My sisters loved me, little baby sister, and from the first moment I swam with them. I swam in the sea with my sisters. But my father and mother were sorry to see me. Girl number six then is it? There was wailing and gnashing of teeth and tearing of garments and hair out by the roots. Where is our son, our baby blue-eyed son, our sun, our star? Where is our prince, our king, our namesake?
They murmured to each other in the dead of night. ‘Let us take her,’ they said, ‘to the top of yonder hill, and there we will leave her naked and cold, new and naked and cold as a toad. We will leave her in the icy starlight and the animals will come out at night to look at her and marvel as she weeps. The long-eyed fox will sink into her his wonderfully needled teeth. Rip her open and snap up her heart in one triumphant chomp. Drag her off 66
The White Garden
like a torn-up chicken. A fox with a box of chicken guts and chips tied up with a sky blue ribbon.’
Nobody wanted the me of me. For my sisters I was a plaything, a live doll, a squealing toy. They dressed me in fairy wings and made me stand on the windowsill behind and above the Christmas tree. I was the fairy on the Christmas tree, silver sparkling twinkling dazzling. Blinding. I said: ‘Do you think my hair is too short, too long?’ And they said it was just right for a girl of my age. I was flooded with torrents of light; I blazed with heat. I was a beacon, a roman candle, a bright star in the starry firmament. So they hoisted me up and put me on top of the tree, and they left me there. That was the sad part. Lonely at the top, people used to say. Yes, I found it very lonely indeed at the top.
I was unendurable company for others when Marie entered the convent. I wept a great deal — my eyes were frequently red and my lips swollen with distress. It needed God to perform another miracle to make me grow up and come to my senses.
On Christmas Day the Holy Child Jesus who was only one hour old, but wise beyond all wisdom, came to me and flooded my small soul with torrents of light. So, on Christmas Day, 1886, I emerged from childhood. I look back on my life now and I see that when I was four and my mother died, I lost the strength of my soul. But now my strength returned.
I was a roman candle, a catherine wheel and it was fireworks night. They pinned me
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