ELIZABETH & SUFFERING (1899 -1906)

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BACKGROUND

Introduction.
Side-by-side with an outward show of gaiety, love of travel, enjoyment of friends, and striving for perfection at the conservatoire; Elizabeth Catez had a soundly-based hidden-life, to which only a few were privy. The intention, in this update, is to focus on the place of sorrow and suffering in that life. How did sorrow and suffering impinge on Elizabeth’s early life? What was her attitude towards sorrow and suffering in her own life and in the lives of other people?

Trying to answer these questions is rather like trying to fit the pieces of a jig-saw, without seeing a picture of the completed puzzle, and knowing that many of the pieces have been lost! The majority of useful information, in translation, is in Jennifer Moorcroft’s book [HMH]. One might have expected Père Philipon [MPA] to have included more detail about Elizabeth’s early life. Apparently, some detail was included in the original draft of the book, but pages had to be removed to shorten its length. In a wide ranging overview of this topic, Fr De Meester rightly hints [3] that account must be taken of conditions prevailing at the time in which Elizabeth lived, so as to place one’s self in her century, if her life is to be appreciated. With this in mind various topics, apparently unconnected with the main theme, are first examined; followed by an attempt to assemble as much of the jig-saw as is credible.

Dijon, circa 1895.
The family moved to Dijon in 1882, living in the Rue Lamartine at the edge of town [4]. When Joseph Catez died (1887) the family moved 2km across the town to the Rue Prieur de la Côte d’Or [5] which happened to be in close proximity to the Carmel and near to the Convent of The Good Shepherd. In a contemporary guide book (1895) Dijon was described as a fortified town 270 km SE of Paris, and an important railway centre. The surrounding countryside was beautiful, while the town streets were broad with numerous open squares, the old walls providing tasteful boulevards. There were numerous public buildings and the architectural beauty of Elizabeth’s parish church, Saint-Michel, was mentioned [ http://www.ot-dijon.fr/galerie-photos/saint-michel.jpg ]. The town possessed a handsome theatre, a rich museum, and a well-endowed library. It was the seat of an académie with faculties of law, science, and letters. It also boasted a theological seminary, an academy of art, and conservatoire of music. The population in 1891 was 61,300. It was estimated that about half of the population nationwide were engaged in agriculture.

Everyday things which are common place now; were either dreams yet to be realised or insufficiently developed to be available to the general public. For example: travel was by train or horse drawn vehicle; the motor car was in its infancy and there were no aeroplanes. Balloons were unreliable for travel: the novelty of balloon ascents had not diminished and these were fun. Although telegraphy was available, few places had been linked by the necessary cables, and radio (or wireless) was still in the laboratory. It is the same story with the cinema: films were being made in America in 1895 but ‘cinemas’ were years away. Medicine was still in infancy. Anaesthesia had been used for 60 years, but its effects were not properly understood [6]. Pasteur ‘s pioneering work was being applied by Lister to the development of antiseptics and was making surgery more trustworthy.

Religion, circa 1895.
The title requires explanation to avoid seeming pretentious. The principal aim here is to quantify, against an historical background, difficulties being experienced by Holy Mother Church along with some of the differences in the approach of the laity to religious practices (excluding dogma and doctrine) when compared with today. Obviously, this can only be in terms of generalities and, at times, no more than conjecture.

The revolution of 1789 saw the emergence onto centre stage of a vociferous minority with no respect for God, the Church, the Aristocracy, or for life itself. Many rural areas of France experienced little effect of the revolution and its aftermath, while some cities and towns were devastated. The bloody events (e.g., Martyrs of Compiègne) and the terror may have been short-lived, but the new-found ideology was spreading. In those places that were affected, the century that followed did little to stabilize life. Republic followed republic, then the monarchy was re-established, only to be replaced by the 3rd Republic. The neighbourhood of Dijon saw considerable fighting in the disastrous Franco-German war and the ultimate surrender of the town, after many casualties, to the German forces. Despite these unsettled conditions, French academics were making notable contributions to the emerging sciences of the 19th Century.

The increase in knowledge inevitably fuelled challenges to the teaching of Holy mother Church on a wider front now than simply from the philosophers. So many advances in knowledge had been made in such a short time, it was natural to think that God was simply a myth to cover up lack of knowledge. What an opportunity for that vociferous minority to seek to discredit Holy Mother Church; to reduce, nay even to destroy, her authority over, and influence of, the mainstream of life; and to reshape her as a vassal of human agencies. Rome was aware of these problems, as encyclicals of Pope Leo XIII show. For example: ‘Nobilissima Gallorum Gens’ (On the Religious question in France) 1884 and ‘Au Milieu des Sollicitudes’ (On Church and State in France) 1892. Of course, other countries were not exempt from error. In 1907 Pope Pius X in the Decree Lamentabili condemned and proscribed 65 errors. By way of example, error No. 38 stated, ’The doctrine of the expiatory death of Christ is not evangelical but solely Pauline.’ This is interesting in view of Sr Elizabeth’s extensive use of St Paul’s Epistles, but no more than that. Her interpretation and use of St Paul’s Epistles was sound.

The majority of men and women living in rural France remained staunchly Catholic, and many had joined prayer groups that through their devotion to Our Lady of the Rosary and to the Sacred Heart of Jesus, Holy Mother Church might be strengthened in her trials. The loss of so many of the Hierarchy was not without danger, and a growing laxity of the faithful did not escape the Pope’s attention. In a hard hitting encyclical Laetitiae Sanctae’, (September 1893) he targeted the growing selfishness in society, including a distaste for suffering; dealt with their ‘obligations’; and encouraged the Rosary as a powerful antidote. Do read the ncyclical at http://www.newadvent.org/docs/le13ls.htm . It may be conjecture to suppose that Elizabeth would have heard about the encyclical in a Sunday sermon or in conversation with her parish priest; but note the date of the encyclical and compare this with the date of her first extant mention of ‘suffering’ in a poem: – [P4], August 1894.

Sections of the encyclical almost appear to have been tailor-made for her: Christ was prepared to die, regardless of personal suffering for mankind. He exhibited fortitude in suffering as did His Blessed Mother. This we witness to with the eyes of faith. The Pope then emphasized that Christ would be waiting in heaven for each and everyone of us, if we would but respond positively to His call, by repeating Jesus’ promise: ‘I go to prepare a place for you’ (Jn 14:2) and by noting the words of St Thomas ‘Let us also go, that we may die with Him’ (Jn 11:16), in praise of ordinary men and women who followed in His footsteps. It is fascinating to ponder the thought that ‘Laetitiae Sanctae’ is timeless, whereas the participation of the laity has changed so much ‘in thought, word, and deed’.

Their entrenched view was of a ‘God of Fear’, a ‘God of Vengeance’; that man, because of his fallen nature: firstly, was unable to avoid sin and therefore likely to be ‘sent’ to hell; and secondly, was destined to suffer, however good a life he had tried to lead – ‘If we have received good things at the hand of God, why should we not receive evil?’ (Job 2:10) How easy it would be, with this attitude, for the average churchgoer either to just keep up appearances or to simply lapse. Some went to Church on Sundays and Holy days because it was a mortal sin not to. For the same reason, some went to confession just once a year and received the Eucharist at Easter. Confession could be daunting because one’s examen was based on the unequivocal ‘Thou shalt not. . ‘ . It would be quite unfair not to put the other side of the picture. Love was not unknown! Less than half a century earlier, Lacordaire, one of France’s most gifted preachers had said, ‘Love pardons everything save one thing only, which is, not to be loved’ [7]. Many believed this yet subscribed to the notion of a ‘God of Fear’; were at pains to be always in a ‘state of grace’ (as far as they knew); went to confession regularly; and Communicated each Sunday. Elizabeth communicated each Sunday and as often as she could during the week [8]. These people were the regulars at prayer groups and hungered for missions.

Having painted a rather severe picture of ‘church going’, it may seem strange that French people had a great love for Our Blessed Lady, for the Saints, and very particularly for the Holy Souls. This was manifest in the attention given to statues, holy pictures and relics. Again it would be unfair to omit mention of spiritual reading in the home: this would have certainly included the lives of favourite saints, the Scriptures and the use of meditative exercises given in prayer books.

Comment is appropriate on church buildings. Entering a church, even in rural France, one could be rendered speechless by the unexpected. Many interiors were breathtaking with their substantial masonry, architecture, and decoration. Frequently the antiquity was awesome, confirming a feeling of timelessness and of a ‘House of God’. The sense of the ‘holy’ was given further expression in some churches by the rood and a screen, separating the Sanctuary and choir from the congregation. The Altar was in close proximity to the end wall of the Sanctuary and backed by a reredos. The Priest celebrated Holy Mass in Latin, with his back to the congregation.

ELIZABETH CATEZ

Introduction.
Marie Rolland knew sorrow early in life when her fiancé was killed in the Franco-German war. She became deeply religious and at times, apparently, her views were ‘rather Jansenistic’ [9]. This is hardly surprising in view of the tragedy which had befallen her and the fact that some areas of France had been in the grips of Jansenism only a century earlier. Nine years had elapsed, when she met and married a man of equally deep faith, Joseph Catez. It was into this background that two daughters, Elizabeth and Marguerite, were born. Joseph was to remain in the army for several more years and so the early education of the girls was strongly influenced by their Mother [10]. Without any doubt, their religious upbringing would have been sound. Who taught Elizabeth to kneel and pray, and made such an impression, that Elizabeth decided that her doll had to kneel and pray as well, if it was not her Mother [11]? One wonders what Elizabeth had been told about the Crucifix [12]! Both Elizabeth and Marguerite would have needed their Mother’s love, and strength, to help them deal with the deaths in quick succession of their Grandfather and Father. Our Lord must have loved Marie Catez very much to have given her such a heavy cross: having married 9 years after the death of her first fiancé; she then lost her Mother, Father, and husband all in the space of 5 years.

Spiritual Reading.
Elizabeth’s letters indicate that her Mother taught her about St Teresa of Avila [13] and encouraged reading [14]. In keeping with the times, the family would have read selected passages from Scripture [15], and there would have been instruction in the Catechism. Ideas about what she read (prior to Carmel), in addition to ‘The Way of Perfection’ [16], are merely conjecture, but it would be surprising if her reading had not included the popular ‘Story of a Soul’ (published in 1898); as well as ‘lives’ of her name Saint, Elizabeth of Hungary[17], and the Saint on whose feast-day she was baptized, Mary Magdalen. [P25] is a short poem about Joan of Arc [18].

Even as a young girl, it would not have escaped Elizabeth’s notice that both Saints had one thing in common: they ended their lives in considerable hardship. Elizabeth, a widow and having had to give up her children, ministered to the poor with boundless charity in Marburg; while Mary, according to tradition, lived the life of a hermit in the wilderness of Provence, France. Neither would it have escaped her attention that St Teresa had referred to the practice of the Saints in offering their sufferings to the Lord [19] but, at first, would she have understood why they loved suffering? She was yet to realise that it was not for the self-centred reason of making satisfaction for their sins (or for the sins of others), but purely for love of God that their nothingness might glorify Him [20]. Further indulgence in conjecture, would suggest that the authors of the ‘lives’, which Elizabeth read, could have been Montalembert and Lacordaire , respectively. She quotes from Montalembert in [21], and Fr DeMeester gives the reference [22] as the Belgian edition of the book – whether Elizabeth read the book or had simply heard the quotation is unknown [23]. Evidence in support of ‘Lacordaire’ is in her letters: Elizabeth quoted Lacordaire on 3 occasions, each traceable to Lacordaire’s book. In [L227], written in Carmel, the quotation was loose; whereas in [L75], written prior to Carmel, the quotation was exact. As a teenager then, would she have known: that Lacordaire’s two favourite Saints were also Elizabeth of Hungary and Mary Magdalen; of his love of self-imposed suffering; and of his painful death after long illness [24]? Finally, would she have known as she knelt in the beautiful parish church of Saint-Michel in Dijon making her first confession, that, almost 80 years earlier Lacordaire had knelt in the same church making his first confession and to the end of his life he never forgot the experience? Her Mother could have mentioned it, because she was old enough to remember the respect with which this great and forthright preacher was held.

Hidden Life.
Biographers are agreed that Elizabeth’s hidden-life was very private, known only to her family and one or two special friends [25]. She lived a ‘double life’, outwardly appearing very sociable and relaxed, enjoying the pleasures of Dijon and long summer holidays; while inwardly she struggled with an insatiable desire to love Love, feeding this desire through prayer[26], and pilgrimages to shrines of Our Blessed Lady in France [27], and visits to Carmel. It may be inferred from [28] that at least as early as 1893 Elizabeth wished suffering to be one expression of that love, following the example of St Teresa. In [P47], written on the seventh anniversary of her First Holy Communion she wrote: “since that hour my one desire has been to give my life, to repay in some little way His mighty love,” [29]. The implied date is 1891, but the poem was written 7 years after the event.

How natural, as her beliefs took shape, that family tragedies, sufferings of Saints familiar to her, evils in society, and (possibly) the mask of compliant gaiety, would trigger ‘a period of scruples. . . and an inner darkness’ [30]. Our Blessed Lord allowed this trial to happen, that she might give herself the more selflessly to His Love.(Rom.8:14) Sensibly she sought guidance from her parish Priest, and Our Lord led her by the hand to take another step up the ladder of Love [31]. It may have been soon after this when she heard about the encyclical ‘Laetitiae Sanctae’, encouraging the Rosary and condemning the deterioration in social standards. Her interest would have heightened at those sections on suffering, and the future life; as these impinged on her own developing beliefs. At about this time she began to write short single verse poems giving sincere expression to heart-felt feelings. For the 2 months (11th Aug. to 30th Sept 1894) there are 18 poems extant. In one of these, [P4], entitled ‘To Jesus’, she gives unequivocal expression to her determination to suffer ‘with’ Him – the 3rd line of the poem reads, “With you I want to suffer” [32]. This is the earliest extant record (1894) in her poems of her wish to suffer.

The Wish to Suffer.
Elizabeth’s desire to enter Carmel was now an ever-present thought. Hadn’t St Teresa explained how every nun should wish to carry the cross [33] and, in Carmel, she expected to be able to give expression to her wish to suffer [34] – “Oh why keep me in suspense when I long to suffer?”(1896)[35]. She made frequent visits to the Dijon Carmel; and holidays which took her far away from it, were a nightmare to her. Then the blow fell, she was 17 years old, when her Mother stopped her visits to the Carmel [36]. Clearly devastated, her relief was in offering this trial to her Lord [37] and, thereafter, she placed her vocation in the hands of Our Blessed Lady. Although it took all of her self-control, she carried on with her life as if nothing had happened. Naturally, her sister Guite saw the strain that Elizabeth was under, and from time to time so did her friends. This strain is also apparent in some of her poetry. In [P55] written for the octave of the forthcoming feast of the Sacred-Heart in June 1898, there are 2 lines in which she demanded to share the Cross, “Because I am thirsty! Oh yes, a thirst to suffer; without the Cross I prefer to die” (a reference to Jn7:37) [38] In [P57] written on the actual feast-day, “Such is my most intimate vow. . . .to suffer and to die”. This linking of suffering and death, after Our Holy Mother’s couplet, ‘Either to die or to suffer’, is also found in [P39] (‘After Communion’, 1897), and in [P43] (‘To Mary Immaculate’,1897). In [P39] she wrote, “To suffer for You, Oh what great joy”. While in [P43] she offers to suffer as a victim for sinners. Her masterpiece to ‘suffering’ is undoubtedly her ‘Hymn to Suffering’ [P46], written on, and inspired by the Liturgy of Good Friday (1898) [39]. Dynamic translations of verses 1,2, and 4 are given in [40], but her real passion was saved for the last 2 lines of the complete poem, “I will be strong, always strong, in order to love, to suffer all my life!” [41].

ASSEMBLING THE PIECES

Making a ‘sacrifice’ of human life, or some possession, to a god in propitiation, or homage, is as old as time and is part of the human psyche. The Old Testament abounds with examples; while in the New Testament the offering of the ‘Lamb of God’ to God, and its aftermath, are central to our Faith. Against this backdrop Elizabeth’s desire to sacrifice herself, to ‘suffer’, is pieced together.

Like most ‘well to do’ children at the end of the 19th Century she would have learned at her Mother’s knee that there was pleasure in receiving, but more pleasure in giving. At her Mother’s knee she quickly learned that misbehaviour resulted in ‘suffering’; suffering the loss of her good-night kiss [42]. As she grew up she would instinctively copy her parent’s behaviour in different situations, to help her make friends and play with other children [43]. She had a difficult time dealing with the trauma of her Father’s death: although numbed by the experience, her Mother was at hand to help her cope with the sorrow and suffering.

Not long after this she was prepared for her First Confession. She was 7 years old – the ‘age of reason’ – and would have learned by heart parts of the Catechism, along with explanations appropriate to her age. Her Mother would have told her about Jesus, which would be reinforced by the Catechetical instruction; and about sin, maybe saying, “Don’t hurt Jesus, He loves you”. The Holy Spirit operating through the Parish Priest and her Mother was obviously guiding proceedings, because Elizabeth always spoke of her First Confession as her ‘Conversion’. Mother Germaine realised just how important this was to her [44]. [L128] contains the only reference by Elizabeth to her ‘Conversion’: in her letters she wrote, “let yourself be taken in the Master’s nets, it is so good there.” [45].

Elizabeth must have found it very good. What a lovely thought: she could not wait for the day of her First Holy Communion, so eager was she to receive Jesus. Again, her mother must have laid a sound foundation, prior to her ‘official’ preparation, because throughout her life, Elizabeth acknowledged that she could never thank her Mother enough for preparing the ‘house of God’ to receive God. Well, Jesus came to her and Jesus ‘fed’ her. Elizabeth’s feelings that day were of pure selfless joy – what could she give Jesus, who had given Himself to her? The answer is in [P47] – her life; and that is what she gave, little-by-little for the rest of her days. Jesus had fed her, Elizabeth the ‘House of God’; she became more aware of the reality of her vocation, a vocation in Carmel, to become a nun, to suffer for Jesus. It is easy to see how this line of thinking would have needed trammelling. Yes, Elizabeth loved Jesus: ‘she wanted’ . . . Gently, Jesus began to show her, through the Parish Priest, that if she really did love Him then, that love had to be as ‘He wanted’: where, when and how. Nobody learns this lesson overnight. Little-by-little, Elizabeth did learn it, but it took several years. Her ideas about giving herself, of suffering with Him, were grounded on bedrock and would grow.

The examples given thus far, have been of ‘suffering’ which happened directly to her. In no way, was she lacking in compassion over the sufferings of other people. These could affect her deeply. Examples serve to illustrate this. Although only 7 years old when her Father died, she was aware of her Mother’s distress [46]. Then a year later, she wrote to her Mother clearly concerned that she had been a bit of a handful! [47]. Again, during a visit to the poor she was overcome with compassion and had to leave [48]. Now, two similar examples both addressed to Our Blessed Mother: she often prayed for the conversion of M. Chapuis [49] offering to accept any suffering in support of her petition [50]; and she offered to suffer as a victim for sinners [51]. Lastly, her Mother’s ill-health, and worry about Elizabeth wanting to become a nun, affected her deeply [52].

Jesus’ severest test in her young life, so far, lay in her Mother’s embargo on visiting Carmel, imposed when she was 17 years old. One can sense her distress from the way in which St Teresa’s couplet was versed in several poems. There were periods of calm as other poems of the same period show. How, then, did she react to the added test of her Mother’s illness? She talked the problem over with Our Blessed Mother, and placed her trust in her. In all her distress, she poured out her young heart in a deeply sincere poem, ‘O Master, whom I adore’[53](December 1898). This is more than a poem, it is a mature prayer in typical Teresian style: a loving conversation with God, deferent, yet forthright.

Elizabeth’s love pours out unchecked as she abases herself before Jesus, her life: “O Master whom I adore”, “I love You”, “I bless You”, “I thank You”. She tells Him of her Gethsemane which has lasted over a year, linking it to His own agony in the garden. As Jesus prayed to the Father, “. .not as I will, but as Thou wilt.” (Matt.26:39b); Elizabeth says, “Since You wish that it is so”. As Jesus wept; Elizabeth weeps in her disquiet and begs Jesus to sanctify “her burning tears”. She turns now to her compassion and love for her Mother, reminding Him of His love for His Mother. Only she doesn’t use the word ‘love’, she goes further – “Oh You cherished . . . so much” – ‘cherish’, the nearest expression there is of the ineffable. On this basis, He must be aware of her “bitter distress” at not being able to discuss her worries, her anxieties, with her Mother; or to let her see the tears, especially now that her Mother is ill. Despite all her weeping and sorrow, and because of her continuing deep love and compassion, Elizabeth is at pains not to let her own wishes further upset her Mother. Her charity shines through her tears, she is not insensitive to the hurt she has caused her “first love”, ”Maman”. In typical Teresian style she tells Jesus how she has “happily sacrificed all” for Him, adding poignantly, “even my mother”, because He had called her all those years ago. She knows that it is the ‘better part’: using such phrases as ‘transitory world’, and ‘all passes on this sad earth’; reminders, again of St Teresa, and of similar words she will repeat to her sisters just before her death [54].

All but spent, Elizabeth tells Jesus that she is aware that He is testing her with yet “another suffering”. She has accepted that to love Him truly can never be on her terms, but must be on His; and that she may have to continue carrying her cross in the world. Having exhibited her Charity and her Faith, Elizabeth Catez concludes this great poem with her Hope as she pleads her cause before “her Spouse, her Saviour, and her King”.

“Jesus, my Strength, my Hope, . . . . I want to carry (my cross) with You”.

“I tremble before what I feel to be the soul of this great and holy life. I have placed my hand on the heart of my father, and have laid it bare at that deep and mysterious spot where only the eye of God, and those few chosen friends, have ever before penetrated” [55].

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