ates: "A few days after the oblation of myself to God's
Merciful Love, I was in the choir, beginning the Way of the Cross,
when I felt myself suddenly wounded by a dart of fire so ardent
that I thought I should die. I do not know how to explain this
transport; there is no comparison to describe the intensity of
that flame. It seemed as though an invisible force plunged me
wholly into fire. . . . But oh! what fire! what sweetness!"

When Mother Prioress asked her if this rapture was the first she
had experienced, she answered simply: "Dear Mother, I have had
several transports of love, and one in particular during my
Noviciate, when I remained for a whole week far removed from this
world. It seemed as though a veil were thrown over all earthly
things. But, I was not then consumed by a real fire. I was able to
bear those transports of love without expecting to see the ties
that bound me to earth give way; whilst, on the day of which I now
speak, one minute--one second--more and my soul must have been set
free. Alas! I found myself again on earth, and dryness at once
returned to my heart." True, the Divine Hand had withdrawn the
fiery dart--but the wound was unto death!

In that close union with God, Therese acquired a remarkable
mastery over self. All sweet virtues flourished in the garden of
her soul, but do not let us imagine that these wondrous flowers
grew without effort on her part.

"In this world there is no fruitfulness without suffering--either
physical pain, secret sorrow, or trials known sometimes only to
God. When good thoughts and generous resolutions have sprung up in
our souls through reading the lives of the Saints, we ought not to
content ourselves, as in the case of profane books, with paying a
certain tribute of admiration to the genius of their authors--we
should rather consider the price which, doubtless, they have paid
for that supernatural good they have produced."[1]

And, if to-day Therese transforms so many hearts, and the good she
does on earth is beyond reckoning, we may well believe she bought
it all at the price with which Jesus bought back our souls: by
suffering and the Cross!

Not the least of these sufferings was the unceasing war she waged
against herself, refusing every satisfaction to the demands of her
naturally proud and impetuous nature. While still a child she had
acquired the habit of never excusing herself or making a
complaint; at the Carmel she strove to be the little se