The Poetic Habit: Verse and Vestment in Spanish and French Carmel1 Daniel Hanna

Early Modern Women: An Interdisciplinary Journal Vol. 9, No. 2 • Spring 2015

n Teresa of Ávila’s sixteenth-century reform of the Carmelite Order, Iboth clothing and poetry had important functions. The sartorial reform mandated by Teresa, by which the Carmelite habit was made simpler and more austere, showed to anyone who saw them that she and her sisters were different from the unreformed Carmelites who had come before them.2 The tradition of composing poetry was insisted on by Teresa to temper the rigors of her newly established rules, so that the hardships of

1 Special thanks to Jodi Bilinkoff, Mónica Díaz, and Jean-Paul Dumont for help in preparing this article. 2 In the third chapter of her Constitutions (chapter 3, section 3), Teresa specified the style and materials for the reformed Carmelite habit. Numerous modern sources also refer to the primitive and more austere nature of the new Carmelite habit. See Teresa de Avila, Obras completas, ed. Efrén de la Madre de Dios and Otger Steggink (Madrid: Biblioteca de Autores Cristianos, 2006), 824. In The Avila of Saint Teresa (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1989), Jodi Bilinkoff points out that Teresa’s reforms, including the change to more austere clothing, were inspired by the Franciscan Pedro de Alcántara (125). Bilinkoff also explains that the switch from luxurious cloth to rough wool was a pronounced one for Teresa herself, as she had entered the convent with an important quantity of fine cloth, which was in fact a significant source of income for her merchant family (114). See also Rosemary Guiley, The Encyclopedia of Saints (New York: Facts on File, 2001), 320; Elizabeth Lehfeldt, Religious Women in Golden Age Spain: The Permeable Cloister (Aldershot, UK: Ashgate, 2005), 55; Peter-Thomas Rohrbach, Journey to Carith; The Story of the Carmelite Order (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1966), 163.

39 40 EMWJ Vol . 9, No . 2 • Spring 2015 Daniel Hanna

life as a reformed Carmelite were balanced with a note of alegría, or joy.3 And as it happens, verse and vestment coincided on more than one occa- sion, as Teresa and her followers deployed their poems to celebrate and explain their religious clothing. Later, when the Spanish Carmel expanded into France at the beginning of the seventeenth century, Carmelites took with them both their habit of dress and their habit of poetic composition.4 This study has two principal objectives, neither of which has been investigated in previous scholarly work: first, to demonstrate the importance of religious dress as celebrated in the poems of sixteenth-century Spanish Carmelites, and second, to present and analyze a newly-discovered manuscript poem, “Pour la réception de ma sœur Thaïs,” composed by an anonymous eighteenth-century Carmelite in the Parisian convent of Rue de Grenelle.5 The French poem demonstrates that two centuries after Teresa’s reforms, both “habits” — Carmelite dress and Carmelite

3 In her letters, Teresa insisted on the importance of composing coplas and vil- lancicos. See her letters of February 1, 1580 and November 8, 1581, both to María de San José, prioress of the convent of Seville, in Teresa de Ávila, Obras completas, ed. Efrén de la Madre de Dios and Otger Steggink (Madrid: Biblioteca de Autores Cristianos, 2006), 1257; 1352. The composition and singing of verse was an important part of daily “recreations” or periods of relative relaxation of the strict convent rules. On recreations in Teresian Carmel, see María de San José, Book for the Hour of Recreation, introd. Alison Weber, trans. Amanda Powell (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2002). On the function of verse and theater in convent life, see Elissa Weaver, Convent Theatre in Early Modern Italy: Spiritual Fun and Learning for Women (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002). 4 For a good overview of the expansion of Teresian Carmel into France, see Concha Torres Sánchez, La clausura imposible (Madrid: Asociación Cultural Al-Mudayna, 2000), in particular section 2, “‘La expansión europea del Carmelo descalzo español (1600– 1650)”, 17–87. 5 The poem was likely composed for the taking of the habit of Christine de Gramont / Thaïs de la Miséricorde on October 7, 1751, after her period of postulancy. The terms “reception” and “habit-taking” or “vestition” are generally used interchangeably in the context of religious novitiates and vestitions. It is included in the ms. Cantiques spirituels sur la naissance de notre Seigneur et autres sujets, faits par nos sœurs de Saint Denis et par celles de notre maison rue de Grenelle (1749–1884), Archives of the Convent of Créteil, 438–39. This volume from the Carmelite convents of Saint-Denis and Rue de Grenelle contains 628 manuscript pages of poems composed in those communities. “Pour la récep- tion de ma sœur Thaïs” and most of the other poems in the collection are unattributed. The Poetic Habit 41

poetry — were actively maintained, and that verse and vestment corre- sponded as they had in the poems of the Spanish Carmelites of Teresa’s time. Finally, it will be shown that for both Spanish and French Carmelites, convent poetry could be used to defend their choices and ways of life: for the Spanish Carmelites, in the context of the conflict between reformed and unreformed Carmelites, and for French Carmelites, in the context of the years preceding the French Revolution, when monde and monastère were in increasing opposition to one other.

Clothing and Ceremony in Spanish Carmel

In addition to well-known compositions such as “Muero porque no muero” (“I die because I do not die”) and “Vuestra soy” (“I am yours”), Teresa of Ávila also composed poems specifically for ceremonies of habit-taking and profession. In one of these, the poem “El velo,” Teresa plays with the terms velo (veil) and velar (to stay awake or to be vigilant), admonishing her Carmelite daughters against spiritual carelessness:

Hermana, por que veléis Os han dado hoy este velo, Y no os va menos que el cielo; Por eso no os descuidéis.

(So that you will be watchful, Sister, Today they have veiled you; On that your Heaven depends; Do not be careless.)6

Unless otherwise noted, all translations in the essay are mine. The full transcription of the poem with English translation appears in the appendix to this article. 6 Teresa of Ávila, The Collected Works of Teresa of Ávila, trans. Kieran Kavanaugh and Otilio Rodríguez (Washington, D.C.: ICS Publications, 1985), 3: 401. While Kavanaugh and Rodriguez’s translation of the verse Y no os va menos que el cielo seems accurate in reflecting the message of this poem, it is also worth noting that a reference to dressing may also be read here, thanks to the phrase os va can be interpreted to mean “it suits/fits you,” very much compatible with the theme of the poem. 42 EMWJ Vol . 9, No . 2 • Spring 2015 Daniel Hanna

Like other poems composed for veiling and clothing ceremonies, this one can be considered an epithalamium, composed for a bride about to enter into marriage, and in the stanzas that follow, Teresa extends the velo- velar wordplay to evoke the parable of the wise and foolish virgins, five of whom keep their oil lamps lit for the arrival of the bridegroom, remaining vigilant, and five of whom let their lamps go out, and are away looking for oil when the bridegroom arrives.7 Here the velo, thanks to its lexical prox- imity to velar, is both a sartorial and textual symbol of the Carmelite nun’s spiritual vigilance, as she is ever prepared for the coming of Christ and her role as his bride. Teresa’s Spanish daughters maintained the tradition of composing poems for habit-taking and professing. The Libro de romances y coplas del Carmelo de Valladolid, a collection of poems composed by Carmelites in the convent of Valladolid between 1590 and 1609, contains a section enti- tled “Hábitos y velos,” and among the poems in this group are some that use the same verbal playfulness found in Teresa’s “El velo,” and to a similar end. One untitled poem in the “Hábitos y velos” group begins:

Estimad en mucho el velo ysabel que abeis tomado pues el mundo os a tapado y os ha descubierto el çielo

(Hold the veil you have taken, Isabel, in great esteem, as it has hidden the world from you and uncovered Heaven to you.)8

7 See Helmut Hatzfeld, Santa Teresa de Avila (New York: Twayne, 1969), 95. 8 Libro de romances y coplas del Carmelo de Valladolid (c 1590–1609). , ed. Victor García de la Concha and Ana María Álvarez Pellitero, 2 vols. (Salamanca: Consejo General de Castilla y León, 1982), 174. Significantly, the section header “Hábitos y coplas” appears in the manuscript of the Libro de romances y coplas, demonstrating that the nuns who compiled this collection took some care with the organization and presentation of the poems, perhaps for purposes of posterity and future readers. Another Spanish cancionero with a similar “hábitos y coplas” section has been recently discovered by Verónica The Poetic Habit 43

Here the play is between covering and uncovering: just as “Ysabel” is physically covered by the veil, such that she no longer sees the world, she is simultaneously allowed to see Heaven, thanks to her new status as a Carmelite. The veil is a powerful symbol of the change of life, as she has left the world and turned her (covered) eyes toward Heaven. Another of the “Hábitos y velos” poems from Valladolid deploys its wordplay in a similar way, this time with the verb vestir (to dress):

oy se visten de alegria mis sentidos mis deseos son cumplidos

(my senses today are dressed in joy, my wishes are fulfilled)9

The “dressing of the sentiments” in this poem perhaps emphasizes that while the habit is an outward symbol of entry into spiritual life, the true change for a new Carmelite nun is an interior one. These poems demonstrate the coincidence of verse and vestment, continuing as they do the more general Teresian tradition of convent poetry and the more specific tradition of ceremonial poems that celebrate and even allegorize the Carmelite habit, making it, as the French textile scholar Christine Aribaud writes, “a textile metaphor for religious virtue.”10 The veil and the habit are converted into lexical puns, as the clever use of key terms conveys serious messages about the symbolism of nuns’ clothing. This said, these poems may also be read in a more generalized manner: to

Zaragoza in the archives of the Carmelite convent in Barcelona. A presentation and analysis of this collection of Carmelite poems are forthcoming in Zaragoza’s doctoral thesis from the Universitat de Girona. For the moment, a listing of the contents of this cancionero can be found at: http://mcem.iec.cat/veure.asp?id_manuscrits=2085. 9 Libro de romances y coplas del Carmelo de Valladolid, 176. 10 “[M]étaphore textile de la vertu religieuse;” Christine Aribaud, “De la soie au drap: la scénographie de la vêture au Carmel (France, XVIIe–XVIIIe siècle),” CLIO: Histoire, femmes et sociétés 36 (2012), 93. See also Aribaud’s Soieries en sacristie: fastes liturgiques, XVIIe–XVIIIe siècles (Paris: Somogy Editions, 1998). 44 EMWJ Vol . 9, No . 2 • Spring 2015 Daniel Hanna

the extent that the habit they celebrate is symbolic of the nuns’ identity, its symbolism might be applied to any woman religious of that era who took the habit. Each religious order had its own prescribed clothing, and any nun taking that habit may have identified with what is expressed in the poems above. The examples that follow show that Carmelite “habit poetry” also served as a means of expressing specific and controversial differences of identity, as Teresa and her followers asserted what distinguished them from the Carmelites who had come before them.

A Habit of Reform

In a seguidilla11 in honor of Teresa of Ávila, the Spanish Carmelite María de San Alberto (1568–1640) celebrated not only the nun, but also her habit, specifically mentioning the material from which it was made, sayal, or sackcloth:

Si el vestido de la esposa tan grosero ha sido y con el tan Hermosa siempre ha parecido que sera con vestido del Rey celestial que enrriqueze a la esposa que vistio sayal.

(If the spouse’s dress has been so rough and in it she has always appeared so Beautiful,

11 The seguidilla is a metric composition consisting of four or seven lines, in both cases the first and third line of seven syllables and free, the second and fourth lines, five syllables and assonant. In the case of a seven-syllable seguidilla, the fifth and seventh lines are also of five syllables and assonant between them, and the sixth verse is, like the first, seven syllables and free (Dictionario de la Real Academia Española, http://lema.rae.es/ drae/?val=seguidilla). The Poetic Habit 45

how will she look in the dress of the heavenly King that enriches the spouse who dressed in sackcloth.)12

The fact that Teresa (“the spouse”) was hermosa in a habit of sackcloth valorizes its roughness (tan grosero) as the garment made her at once physically, and more importantly, spiritually beautiful. For the Carmelites of Teresa’s reformed order, the primitive character of their habit was a point of pride. Teresa herself celebrated the sackcloth habit in her poem “En defensa del sayal” (“In Defense of Sackcloth”):

Pues nos dais vestido nuevo Rey celestial, Librad de la mala gente Este sayal.

(Now that you give us clothing new, Heavenly King, From all evil beings Free this cloth of wool [sackcloth].)13

This humorous poem in which Teresa refers to lice that had infested the cloth of the nuns’ habits as mala gente (“evil beings”) was composed circa 1565, at the stage of Teresa’s reform when the comparatively comfortable

12 Stacey Schlau, ed., Viva al siglo, muerta al mundo: selected works by / Obras Escogidas de / María de San Alberto (1568–1640) (New Orleans: University Press of the South, 1998), 154. 13 Teresa of Ávila, Collected Works, 409. The phrase “nasty creatures” (“mala gente”) in this poem is believed to be a reference to lice that had infested the Spanish Carmelites’ habits, and the poem a prayer to have them purged. See Helen Hester Colvill, Saint Theresa of Spain (New York: Dutton, 1909), 110–11; also, Teresa of Ávila and Vicente de la Fuente, Obras de Santa Teresa de Jesús, 6 vols. (Madrid: Compañía de Impresores y Libreros del Reino, 1881), 3: 133–35. While the “mala gente” may have most directly referenced the lice in the nun’s habits, one may also consider other readings of the phrase, perhaps as a reference to all things evil, and perhaps even, in a humorous way, to the Calced Carmeltes with whom Teresa would come into conflict on questions spiritual and sartorial. Either of these interpretations would be consistent with Teresa’s keen sense of humor and capacity for seeing the lighter side of a given situation. 46 EMWJ Vol . 9, No . 2 • Spring 2015 Daniel Hanna

estameña material that had been used previously was replaced with coarse sayal fabric.14 The “new habit” that María de San Alberto describes as a gift from God was to be a symbol of the new rule, which emphasized austerity, poverty, and simplicity. In the third chapter of her Constitutions, which laid out the rules for the reformed Carmelite Order, Teresa specifies that “the habit should be made of coarse cloth or black, rough wool,”15 and in a 1576 letter to María de San José, the prioress of the convent of Seville, Teresa writes regarding the fabric used to make the habit, “the rougher, the better.” 16 When Teresa insisted on rough, uncomfortable materials for the new Carmelite habit, she ensured that her followers would endure a certain level of physical hardship. But she also made sure that in appearances, her new Carmelites would be distinguishable from the unreformed Carmelites, who continued to live according to a rule that Teresa felt had become too lax. It was precisely the lack of rigor that Teresa perceived in the Carmelite Order that prompted her to begin her own reformed branch, whose objectives would be to return to a less indulgent, stricter way of life.17 Along with the rough material of the new habit, Teresa mandated that her followers should no longer wear shoes, but rather open sandals, as an outward sign of their commitment to poverty and austerity. Perhaps more than any other alteration to the habit, this change in footwear made it readily apparent to anyone who saw them that the unshod or “Discalced” Carmelites, as they came to be known, were not part of the old order. In a 1576 letter to the Discalced Carmelite friar Ambrosio Mariano de San

14 See Colvill, Saint Theresa, 110 and Teresa of Ávila, Collected Works, 666, note 2. 15 “El vestido sea de jerga u sayal negro,” Teresa de Ávila, Obras completas, 824. English translation in Teresa of Ávila, Collected Works, 322. 16 “cuanto más grosero lo hallaren será mejor”, Teresa de Ávila, Obras completas, 1007. 17 It is important to note that the reform Teresa sought was in fact a return to a previous rule: the primitive Carmelite rule had been mitigated, or relaxed, by Pope Eugenius IV in 1432, and it was under this rule that the Carmelites of the convent of the Incarnation (which Teresa entered in 1535) lived. In Teresa’s view, the problems in the Carmelite Order could be traced back to this easing of the rule. See Bilinkoff, The Avila of Saint Teresa, 114. The Poetic Habit 47

Benito, Teresa wrote regarding the new “discalced” style that it had been necessary to in order to distinguish the new Carmelites from the unreformed, writing that “everything has been necessary in order to differenti- ate ourselves from those others.”18 María de San Alberto celebrated the Carmelite sandal, known in Spanish as alpargata, in another of her poems:

Más quiero la alpargata del Carmelo que cuanta plata y oro cría el cielo [. . .] Amor quitando todo impedimento por medio de alpargata y pie descalzo. . .

(I love the Carmelite sandal more than all the gold and silver Heaven yields [. . .] Love, removing all impediments by means of sandals and bare feet. . .)19

As much as the new Carmelites loved their austere habit and footwear, the unreformed Carmelites, who were now often called “Calced” (calza- dos) by default, were not pleased. As Peter-Thomas Rohrbach explains, the unreformed Carmelites “were determined that the reformed [. . .] should not be called ‘Discalced’ — because they interpreted the name as a disparaging and unfriendly reflection” on them, and that the new names for the branches of the order were “a source of stinging annoyance to the non-reformed Carmelites.”20 Indeed, in May 1575 (not long before Teresa

18 “[T]odo ha sido menester para diferenciarse de esotros.” Teresa de Ávila, Obras completas, 1052. In the same letter, Teresa mentions that some of the reformed Carmelite friars had taken the name “discalced” too literally, and worn no footwear at all. Teresa forbade this, and insisted that wearing the alpargata sandal was sufficiently austere. 19 Electa Arenal and Stacey Schlau, Untold Sisters: Hispanic Nuns in Their Own Works, trans. Amanda Powell (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1989), 147. 20 Rohrbach, Journey to Carith, 171–72. 48 EMWJ Vol . 9, No . 2 • Spring 2015 Daniel Hanna composed her poem “En defensa del sayal”), the Calced Carmelites held a chapter at which it was decreed that the use of the word “discalced” to refer to the new Carmelites was forbidden, and further, that the new Carmelites must abandon the use of sandals and return to wearing shoes. These decrees were soon struck down, but the conflict between the reformed and unreformed Carmelites reveals the symbolic power of the new Carmelite habit and of the new labels that were affixed to the two groups as a result of Teresa’s sartorial reform.21 The poems composed by Spanish Carmelites thematizing the habit not only manifested their love for that habit, they strongly proclaimed their identity, as reformed Carmelites showed in verse and vestments who they were, and who they were not. The appearance of terms such as sayal and alpargata and the characterization of the habit as grosero are more than just descriptions of reformed Carmelite clothing; in each case, these terms at once call attention to themselves and to their textually absent but psycho- logically present opposites. The sayal has replaced the more comfortable estameña, the alpargata has replaced the more protective zapato, and the new Carmelite habit is grosero where the old one was, for Teresa of Ávila’s taste, too comfortable, a symbol of the laxity and decadence that Teresa sought to correct, and which she and her sisters effectively criticized in their poems by celebrating their new and austere vestments.

A Habit of Resistance

Two centuries after Teresa’s reforms, the eighteenth-century Discalced French Carmelites in the convent of Rue de Grenelle, in Paris, maintained the poetic habit of their founding mother: a collection of poems now housed in the archives of the convent of Créteil, outside Paris, contains numerous poems similar to those composed by Teresa and her Spanish sisters, among them poems for habit-taking and professions. In one such

21 Rohrbach, Journey to Carith, 188. Shortly after the 1575 chapter, the apostolic nuncio Nicolas Ormaneto came to the defense of the Discalced Carmelites, issuing an order making the Discalced Carmelite Jerónimo Gracián the supervisor of the Discalced Carmelites of Spain, effectively nullifying the edicts made by the Calced Carmelites at their chapter. The Poetic Habit 49 poem, verse and vestment coincide much as they had in sixteenth-century Carmelite poems: the poem “Pour la réception de ma sœur Thaïs,” likely composed around 1751, explains to a new Carmelite the elements of the habit she will take, beginning with the alpargates, the French equivalent of the Spanish alpargatas:

Començons par notre chaussure: les bas, frapent par leur structure, on les prendrait pour un fourreau. Rien n’est si beau. Pour les souliers sont d’importance, nous exaltons leur excellence ; c’est le vrai fléau du talon. Rien n’est si bon.

Oui, telles sont nos alpargates : faites de triples rangs de nates, de chanvres tirés au cordeau. Rien n’est si beau. La peau d’anguille sèche et nette, que l’on ratisse qu’on aprête, en fait le précieux cordon. Rien n’est si bon.

(Let us begin with our footwear, the soles are striking in their form, one would take them for a scabbard. Nothing is so beautiful. For the shoes are important, we exalt their excellence; it is a true scourge for the heel. Nothing is so good.

Yes, such are our sandals: made of triple rows of braids, of lined-up hemp strands. 50 EMWJ Vol . 9, No . 2 • Spring 2015 Daniel Hanna

Nothing is so beautiful. The skin of an eel dry and neat, that is combed and prepared, goes to make the laces. Nothing is so good.)22

Here the French author conveys the same enthusiasm for her alpargates as María de San Alberto had shown for her alpargatas . Like the term alpargate itself, Carmelite enthusiasm for the footwear of the reformed order was also “imported” from Spain, as Teresa’s daughters celebrated their heritage and dress. And if the the alpargate was as beloved to French Carmelites as the alpargatas had been to their Spanish predecessors, the rough and uncomfortable fabric of the Teresian tunic was equally cherished:

Thaïs, que vous serés contente: la serge est joliment piquante; c’est un très excellent morceau. Rien n’est si beau. Manche d’étofe fort grossière, le corset, fait à sa manière, est-elle bien comode ? non. Rien n’est si bon.

22 Cantiques spirituels sur la naissance de notre Seigneur et autres sujets, faits par nos sœurs de Saint Denis et par celles de notre maison rue de Grenelle (Volume dates: 1749– 1884), Archives of the convent of Créteil, 433–39. This volume from the Carmelite convents of Saint-Denis and Rue de Grenelle contains 628 manuscript pages of poems composed in those communities. “Pour la réception de ma sœur Thaïs” and most of the other poems in the collection are unattributed. English translation mine. The full transcription of the poem with English translation appears in the appendix to this article. This poem was likely composed for the taking of the habit of Christine de Gramont / Thaïs de la Miséricorde on October 7, 1751, after her period of postulancy. The terms “reception” and “habit-taking” or “vestition” are generally used interchangeably in the context of religious novitiates and vestitions. The Poetic Habit 51

(Thaïs, you will be pleased: the serge is delightfully prickly; it is a very excellent piece. Nothing is so beautiful. Sleeves of such crude material, the corset, made in its own way, is it really comfortable? No. Nothing is so good.)23

The serge (line 2 above) can be compared to the sayal mentioned in Teresa’s poem “En defensa del sayal” and in María de San Alberto’s poem on “la esposa que vistió sayal,” and its character in the French poem — joliment piquante — is certainly like that of the sayal tan grosero (“the rougher, the better” [“más grosero, mejor”], as Teresa herself wrote in her 1576 letter to María de San José, cited above). Indeed, in the French Carmelite order there seems to have been a keen interest in maintaining the ascetic and penitential rigor of the Teresian habit, and even the terminology that accompanied it on its arrival from Spain. One account has it that when French Carmelites in the newly-founded convent of the Incarnation in Paris (1604) tried to use a finer wool for their tunics, the prioress Madeleine de Saint-Joseph forbade it, insisting that their habits be made only of the same fabric used by Teresa herself.24 This fidelity to Teresian rule, and even to its terminology, can also be seen in early French translations of Teresa’s Constitutions. In the section of the Constitutions in which Teresa prescribes the fabric and style of the reformed habit, the French translation incorporates the Spanish terms jerga and sayal, as if to ensure continuity in the use of material:

23 Cantiques spirituels, 439. 24 Elizabeth Kuhns, The Habit: A History of the Clothing of Catholic Nuns (New York: Doubleday, 2003), 100. The French prioress Madeleine de Saint-Joseph mentioned here would have seen first-hand the Carmelite habit as it was “imported” from Spain, when Carmelite nuns including Ana de San Bartolomé and Ana de Jesús, both close com- panions and collaborators of Teresa of Ávila, arrived in France to found the first Teresian Carmelite convents there at the beginning of the seventeenth century. 52 EMWJ Vol . 9, No . 2 • Spring 2015 Daniel Hanna

L’habillement doit être de Serge, Bure, ou gros drap de couleur enfumé sans teinture, appellé en Espagnol Xerga, ou Sayal, & que l’on employe le moins de drap que l’on pourra pour l’habit (The habit should be of serge, heavy wool or heavy cloth of a dark color, without dyes, called in Spanish “jerga” or “sayal,” and as little wool as possible should be used to make it).25

The fidelity to Teresian prescriptions for dress in the poem “Pour la récep- tion de ma sœur Thaïs” is clear even in the limited examples cited above. But the message of this poem regarding the rigors of Carmelite “fashion” is not limited to a celebration of Teresian sartorial heritage. Its heightened significance is due in part to the person it celebrates, and to the social position she held before becoming a Carmelite nun.

The “Sacred Makeover”

Sister Marie-Thaïs-Thérèse-Félicité de la Miséricorde took the Carmelite habit at the convent on Rue de Grenelle on October 7, 1751. In doing so, she abandoned her previous worldly identity as the Countess Chrétienne de Gramont-Ruplemonde and her status as a member of an aristocratic family with close ties to the court of Louis XV.26 For the Carmelites of Rue de Grenelle, the arrival of Chrétienne/Thaïs was significant. Another French poem in the same volume that contains “Pour la réception de ma sœur Thaïs” expresses this, in humorous fashion:

Thaïs et Nathalie par un concert heureux de manière accomplie ont prononcé leurs vœux.

25 Règle et constitution des religieuses de l’Ordre de N . Dame du Mont-Carmel, selon la reformation de Sainte Thérèse pour les monastères de son ordre en France (Lyon: Jacques Gaudion, 1626), 105. 26 An account of the life of Chrétienne de Gramont-Ruplemonde and her family is given in Charles Marie Joseph Hennequin Villermont, La Société au XVIIIe Siècle . Les Rupelmonde à Versailles, 1685–1784 (Paris: Perrin et cie, 1905). The Poetic Habit 53

Le Carmel s’en étone mais c’est avec plaisir la capture est trop bonne pour ne pas consentir.

Une mer orageuse du monde est le portrait la pêche avantageuse très rarement si fait Toutes deux étaient reines et d’un bonheur complet c’est prendre deux baleines d’un seul coup de filet.

(Thaïs and Natalie, in happy unison and in accomplished fashion, have pronounced their vows. Carmel is astounded but pleasurably so; the capture is too good to not agree to it.

A stormy sea is a portrait of the world; profitable fishing is rarely possible there. Both of these were queens and by most happy accident, it is taking two whales with one fishing line.)27

27 Cantiques spirituels, 413. 54 EMWJ Vol . 9, No . 2 • Spring 2015 Daniel Hanna

By describing Chrétienne/Thaïs and Nathalie, another postulate unknown to us, as “captured queens,” this second poem makes it clear what a coup it was for Carmel to have attracted such important members of society. The poem “Pour la réception de ma sœur Thaïs” demonstrates that for the new recruit, a change of clothes is in order. She will trade her worldly finery for the simple alpargate and the “delightfully prickly” serge tunic. The second stanza of the poem conveys the significance of this change, and how her new clothes will feel to her:

Le Desir présent à sa vüe c’est de se sentir revêtüe d’un habit pour elle nouveau. Rien n’est si beau.

(The Desire that she perceives is to feel herself adorned with a habit new to her. Nothing is so beautiful.)28

For Chrétienne de Gramont-Rupelmonde, the change of status and clothing reflecting her new position was extreme, and more pronounced than it would have been for women who entered Carmel from a lower and less prominent social position. And the greater the distance between her worldly status and her new place in Carmel, the greater the glory. As Aribaud writes:

Dans le cas des entrées en religion des femmes de la cour, l’héroïsme de la postulante est proportionnel à son état dans le monde. Plus elle est haut placée, plus son renoncement a de valeur aux yeux de la religion et du monde. (In the case of ladies of the court who entered the religious life, the heroism of the postulant is proportionate to her status in the world. The higher

28 Cantiques spirituels, 438. The Poetic Habit 55

placed she is, the more her renunciation has value in the eyes of religion and in the eyes of the world).29

Indeed, the “eyes of the world” were likely watching as Chrétienne became Thaïs:

Le jour de la prise d’habit, la novice arrive au chœur en habit du monde. L’assemblée est saisie par le contraste [. . .] l’impact visuel de l’avant-après frappe davantage que le discours qui en fait l’apologie. (The day of the taking of the habit, the novice arrives at the choir in worldly dress. The congregation is struck by the contrast30 [. . .] the visual impact of the “before and after” has more impact than the speech that celebrates it.)31

Citing the example of Louise de France, the daughter of Louis XV who would herself enter Carmel in 1770, some twenty years after Chrétienne de Gramont-Ruplemonde, Aribaud states that Louise entered the church wearing a spectacular court dress that shone with “the effect of rubies and ornate jewels with more than a million diamonds, such that the contrast was even more striking” when Louise re-emerged in Carmelite dress.32 The “sacred makeover” (relooking sacré), to borrow Aribaud’s phrase, was designed to “dazzle with its austerity” (éblouir par son dépouillement).33 No such detailed accounts of Chrétienne/Thaïs’s “makeover” ceremony have survived, but one can assume that although she was not a royal prin- cess, her transformation involved some comparable degree of spectacle, and a similar contrast “before and after.” This is precisely what the poem “Pour la réception de ma sœur Thaïs” celebrates with such relish; for French Carmelites, the “capture of a queen” and the symbolic representation of that capture in an extreme change of habit were a validation of their way of life. Just how necessary such

29 Aribaud, “De la soie au drap,” 103. 30 Aribaud, “De la soie au drap,” 100. 31 Aribaud, “De la soie au drap,” 103. 32 Aribaud, “De la soie au drap,” 102. 33 Aribaud, “De la soie au drap,” 100. 56 EMWJ Vol . 9, No . 2 • Spring 2015 Daniel Hanna validation might have been for eighteenth-century Carmelites remains to be shown.

La guerre au monde

As one of the sixteenth-century Carmelite poets of Valladolid wrote (in a passage cited on p. 42 above), the veil at once hides the world and uncovers Heaven:

Estimad en mucho el velo ysabel que abeis tomado pues el mundo os a tapado y os ha descubierto el çielo

(Cherish the veil highly, Isabel, that you have taken as it has hidden the world from you and uncovered Heaven to you.)34

The author of “Pour la réception de ma sœur Thaïs” suggests the same in the poem’s ninth stanza:

La toque n’est point à la mode, mais que le grand voile est comode : il nous sert d’un heureux tombeau. Rien n’est si beau. Ah! plus au monde l’on se cache, plus à notre Dieu l’on s’attache ; solide consolation. Rien n’est si bon.

(The cap is not in fashion, but the great veil is comfortable: it provides us with a joyful tomb.

34 Libro de romances y coplas, 174. The Poetic Habit 57

Nothing is so beautiful. Ah! the more we hide ourselves from the world, the more we bind ourselves to God; solid consolation. Nothing is so good.)35

The similarity of these two excerpts notwithstanding, it must be said that the mundo in which sixteenth-century Spanish Carmelites lived and the monde of eighteenth-century French Carmelites were different places indeed, particularly when one considers each society’s regard for religion. Sixteenth-century Discalced Spanish Carmelites may have suffered from “internal” conflicts with the unreformed members of their order, but their devotion to the Catholic Church and their decision to live as cloistered women religious were generally not subject to criticism or question.36 For eighteenth-century French Carmelites, the situation was alto- gether different. Chrétienne de Gramont-Rupelmonde / Sœur Thaïs de la Miséricorde entered religious life forty years before the French Revolution, at a time when the wave of anti-clerical sentiment that would sweep over France had already gathered considerable strength. That the author of “Pour la réception de ma sœur Thaïs” was aware of and sensitive to such sentiment is clear, as can be seen in the poem’s seventh stanza:

De nos façons si l’humain gronde, nous déclarons la guerre au monde,

35 Cantiques spirituels, 440. 36 While the decision to become a cloistered nun was generally regarded favor- ably in early modern Spain, difficulties were often encountered. Teresa and her fellow Discalced Carmelites themselves met with opposition when founding some of their convents. The foundation of the Toledo convent, for example, was opposed because some of Teresa’s patrons were conversos, or Jews who had converted to Christianity. See Francisco Márquez Villanueva, “Santa Teresa y el linaje,” in Espiritualidad y literatura en el siglo XVI (Madrid: Alfaguara, 1968), 141–45; 152–60. Even before this, in the first foundation by Teresa in Ávila, some townspeople opposed the new convent, fearing that it would create a financial burden on the city; see New Catholic Encyclopedia (Detroit: Thomson/Gale, 2003), 3:128. 58 EMWJ Vol . 9, No . 2 • Spring 2015 Daniel Hanna

pour lui pleine opposition. Rien n’est si bon.

(If humans critique our ways we declare war on the world, in full opposition to it. Nothing is so good.)37

That Carmelite women might have thought themselves fully opposed to the world, indeed even at war with it, is unsurprising when one considers the attacks on nuns that proliferated in the years preceding Chrétienne/ Thaïs’s entry into Carmel and the composition of the poem in her honor. Mita Choudhury has documented a number of French literary depictions critical of women religious, including Brunet de Brou’s 1740 La Religieuse malgré elle (The Nun in Spite of Herself), one of a number of “vocation forcée” novels that portrayed young women forced against their will into convents by their families.38 Other “anti-nun” novels, taking a still more degrading view of women religious, painted convents as dens of frenetic sexual activity. Choudhury cites Jean Barin’s 1680 Vénus dans le cloître (Venus in the Cloister) as an early example of an “erotic convent novel,” and Anne Gabriel Meusnier de Querlon’s pornographic Histoire de la tourière des Carmélites (Story of the Carmelite Gatekeeper) as a later example, pub- lished in 1745, six years before Chrétienne de Gramont-Ruplemonde became Sœur Thaïs.39 As Choudhury writes, “The scrutiny of nuns was [. . .] extended to their bodies”40 as “libertine works portrayed the brides of Christ as rejecting their intended Spouse and substituting, in His place, mates of their own choosing,”41 mates with whom nuns showed and

37 Cantiques spirituels, 439–40. 38 Mita Choudhury, Convents and Nuns in Eighteenth-Century French Politics and Culture (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2004), 118. For a more recent discussion of the “forced vocation,” see Anne Jacobson Schutte, By Force and Fear: Taking and Breaking Monastic Vows in Early Modern Europe (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2011). 39 Choudhury, Convents and Nuns, 142. 40 Choudhury, Convents and Nuns, 140. 41 Choudhury, Convents and Nuns, 153. The Poetic Habit 59 used their bodies in immodest ways, in sharp contrast to the image of the Carmelite “hidden from the world” by a habit, as the poem for Sœur Thaïs describes her. In this context, one might perhaps speak of a “rehabilitation” of the habit, and interpret the French Carmelite poem as not just its illustration, but also its defense and, in turn, a re-clothing and re-sacralization of the body of the female religious. Read within its social, political, and literary context, the poem may be seen as an attempt to restore the habit to its rightful place as a respected and sacred symbol of chastity, as well as a symbol of poverty and asceticism. Indeed, in the fourteenth stanza, it is clear that the habit has something to teach the world:

Habit, Saint habit respectable mais pour l’enfer si formidable: il fait à l’univers leçon. Rien n’est si bon.

(Habit, Holy habit, so respectable but to Hell so formidable: it is a lesson to the universe. Nothing is so good.)42

A “respectable” habit, strong even against the fires of Hell, teaches a lesson to the universe. Against increasingly negative depictions of women religious that questioned the sincerity of their vows and the purity of their bodies, this poem reasserts the Carmelite habit as a symbol of religious virtue, not only as it was originally conceived by Teresa of Ávila and described in her poems and those of her Spanish daughters, but also, centuries later, by the French Carmelites of Rue de Grenelle.

42 Cantiques spirituels, 441. 60 EMWJ Vol . 9, No . 2 • Spring 2015 Daniel Hanna

Conclusions — Verse, Vestments and Teresian Values

Echoing the famous phrase that “the habit does not make the monk,” in the third “Morada” (“Dwelling”) of her Castillo interior (“Interior Castle”), Teresa wrote, “believe me, what matters is not whether or not we wear a religious habit; it is whether we try to practice the virtues, and make a complete surrender of our wills to God and order our lives as His Majesty ordains.” 43 The author of “Pour la réception de ma sœur Thaïs” echoes this message toward the end of the poem, in stanza fifteen, when she reminds Thaïs whom she should ultimately resemble, regardless of her habit:

Mais, Thays, j’ose vous le dire: l’habit seul ne vous peut sufire; Terese est votre vrai tableau. Rien n’est si beau. Aimés, suivés ce grand modèle, mourés, mourés à tout comme elle; Jésus est votre portion. Rien n’est si bon.

(But, Thays, I dare say to you: the habit alone will not suffice; Teresa is your true tableau. Nothing is so beautiful. Love and follow this great model, die, die to everything just as she did; Jesus is your lot. Nothing is so good.)44

43 “Y creedme que no está el negocio en tener hábito de relisión u no, sino en pro- curar ejercitar las virtudes y rendir nuestra voluntad a la de Dios en todo,” Teresa de Ávila, Obras completas, 492. English translation in Teresa of Ávila, Interior Castle, trans. A. Peers (Radford, VA: Wilder Publications, 2008), 38. 44 Cantiques spirituels, 441. The Poetic Habit 61

After several stanzas that insist on the integrity and preservation of the textile symbol of Carmelite devotion, the author recognizes that for the Carmelite who aspires to perfection, the model to be imitated is Teresa herself, and that the vrai tableau, the “true portrait” that Teresa represents, is not in fact a visual one. As Teresa insisted, it is the practice of virtue that matters, and not the image one shows to the world by wearing a religious habit. And just as the Carmelite vestment is placed in perspective to Teresian virtue as the poem draws to a close, so too is Carmelite verse kept in its proper perspective, humble in its art and secondary to that most Christian of virtues: charity, in the sense of caritas, love of God and neigh- bor, which is both given and asked for in return in the final stanza:

Priés pour des sœurs imbéciles qui, come poëtes mal habiles, dans leur Esprit, dans leur pinceau, n’ont rien de beau. Nos cœurs pour vous par leur tendresse passent tout en délicatesse, mais payés nous en la façon. Rien n’est si bon.

(Pray for the stupid sisters who, as incompetent poets, in their minds, in their [artist’s] brush, have nothing beautiful. For you, our hearts in their tenderness take everything with gentleness, but repay us in the same way. Nothing is so good.)45

45 Cantiques spirituels, 442. 46 See, for example, Victor García de la Concha’s discussion of the secular ante- cedents of “Muero porque no muero”, in El arte literario de Santa Teresa . Ariel, 1978, 332–341. 62 EMWJ Vol . 9, No . 2 • Spring 2015 Daniel Hanna

The poem “Pour la réception de ma sœur Thaïs” thus recommends virtues both specifically Teresian and more generally Christian, all while thematizing the Carmelite habit and establishing its value as a symbol of religious identity in the face of worldly criticism. Indeed, in concluding, it is perhaps useful to examine the ways in which this poem and the others cited in this study communicate not just “local” messages specific to their historical and social contexts, but also more general Teresian values that held true across the centuries, and the national and linguistic borders traversed by the Reformed Carmelite Order. We have already mentioned that both the French and Spanish poems share a focus on the habit’s function as an instrument of mortification, as its rough cloth punishes the flesh and keeps the soul vigilant. It is worth noting, though, that the vehicle by which their message is delivered, the Carmelite poem, is essentially a joyful one. Such juxtaposition of extreme rigor and equally fervent celebration is, as we have mentioned, completely consistent with Teresian spirituality. Teresa prescribed poetry as a counter- balance to the hardships of Carmelite life, and both her compositions on the habit and those of her Spanish and French daughters make manifest the contrast (but not incompatibility) between austerity and alegría, as physical penitence is linked to joyful poetic commemoration in the under- taking of that penitence. When the author of one of the Valladolid poems writes “se visten de alegría / mis sentidos,” she acknowledges that beneath the rough cloth of the Carmelite habit, her sentiments are those of joy; for her, both physical rigor and spiritual joy are simultaneous, and come as necessary parts of the same whole. Furthermore, the simple and even rustic formal nature of the poems also serves to reinforce a Teresian ideal: composing her poems to the tunes of popular songs of the time, Teresa eschewed more erudite poetic forms in all of her verse compositions, including those celebrating the Carmelite

47 See Pierre A. C. Beaumarchais and M. Saint-Marc Girardin, Œuvres complètes de Beaumarchais (Paris: Ledentu, 1837), 738–39; Mis de Vignoles, La lire maçonne: ou, recueil de chansons des Francs-maçons (La Haye: R. van Laak, 1787), 168–70. 48 Alison Weber, Teresa of Ávila and the Rhetoric of Femininity. (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996), 105. The Poetic Habit 63

habit.46 Her daughters in both Spain and France did the same, using simple popular songs as the base for verse compositions that extolled the virtues of their equally simple religious clothing. In the poem “Pour la réception de ma sœur Thaïs”, the refrain “rien n’est si beau / rien n’est si bon” suggests the popular origin of the template upon which the poem was composed. Found in sources as disparate as the works of Pierre Beaumarchais and collections of simple Freemasons’ songs, the “rien n’est si beau / rien n’est si bon” refrain was likely “in the air” at the time, and borrowed by the author of the “Réception” just as Spanish popular tunes had been used by Spanish Carmelites centuries before.47 As such, the preference for basic popular verse forms coincides with the decision to wear simple, rough clothing, such that vestments and verse match each other, each with its particular rustic nature. Finally, these poems and the admonitions they contain for the new Carmelites who take the habit are consistent with the role that Teresa of Ávila established for herself as a writer and spiritual leader. In Teresa of Ávila and the Rhetoric of Femininity, Alison Weber writes that through her self-effacing rhetorical strategies in her prose, Teresa appears to undermine her own discourse, yet, in fact, she delivers powerful spiritual messages. She thereby “succeeds in explaining without teaching,” saying what she wants to say while averting the Pauline proscription against women to engage in theological discourse.48 In their rustic and often humorous way, Carmelite habit poems effect a comparable rhetorical move, their serious spiritual messages only lightly “veiled” by the simple form in which they are delivered. Thus, Teresian ideals and tendencies are perfectly bound up in the combination of vestment and verse shown by the poems discussed here. In both the Spanish and French Carmel, and for at least two centuries after Teresa of Ávila’s spiritual revolution and the societal upheaval that led to the French Revolution, Carmelite dress — prescribed and required by Teresa — and Carmelite poetry — strongly encouraged by Teresa and actively maintained by her followers — served as manifestations of identity and, crucially, as manifestations of difference for Carmelites confronted with opposition and criticism. For the Spanish Carmelites at odds with an “old guard” eager to maintain the status quo, and for the French Carmelites 64 EMWJ Vol . 9, No . 2 • Spring 2015 Daniel Hanna faced with societal changes that threatened their way of life, both vestment and verse were important means of expression. These poems allow us to see, from outside the convent walls and at a distance of hundreds of years, how Spanish and French Carmelites regarded themselves, their bodies, their identity and the world — mundo and monde — that surrounded them. The Poetic Habit 65

Appendix: “Pour la réception de ma sœur Thaïs”

This poem, comprised of seventeen stanzas and following the template of a popular secular song with the refrain “rien n’est si beau-rien n’est si bon,” was likely composed for the taking of the habit of Christine de Gramont/ Thaïs de la Miséricorde on October 7, 1751, after her period of postulancy. The terms “reception” and “habit-taking” or “vestition” are generally used interchangeably in the context of religious novitiates and their taking the veil. The following transcription maintains the original spelling of the manuscript as closely as possible, with written accents added to the French original and minimal punctuation to the French original and the English translation.

Quelle [sic] est l’objet de cette fête? What is the reason for this celebration? C’est de notre Dieu la conquête: It is to celebrate our God’s conquest: Thaïs1 recüe en ce hameau. Thais received in this hamlet. Rien n’est si beau. Nothing is so beautiful. Mais elle nous obtient licence But as she obtains sanction for us quelle sera sa récompense? what will be her reward? Je vais l’expliquer sans façon. I am going to explain it plainly. Rien n’est si bon. Nothing is so good.

2 2 Le Désir présent à sa vüe The Desire that she perceives c’est de se sentir revêtüe is to feel herself adorned d’un habit pour elle nouveau. with a habit new to her. Rien n’est si beau. Nothing is so beautiful. Il faut donc de cette parure We must therefore of this finery faire la naïve peinture; sketch a naive portrait; le tout sans affectation. all without affectation. Rien n’est si bon. Nothing is so good.

3 3 Començons par notre chaussure: Let us begin with our footwear: les bas, frapent par leur structure, the soles are striking in their form on les prendrait pour un fourreau. one would take them for a scabbard. Rien n’est si beau. Nothing is so beautiful.

1 The name Thaïs/Thays is spelled both ways in this poem, seemingly without distinction. 66 EMWJ Vol . 9, No . 2 • Spring 2015 Daniel Hanna

Pour les souliers sont d’importance, For the shoes are important, nous exaltons leur excellence; we exalt their excellence; c’est le vrai fléau du talon. it is a true scourge for the heel. Rien n’est si bon. Nothing is so good.

4 4 Oui, telles sont nos alpargates: Yes, such are our sandals: faites de triples rangs de nates, made of triple rows of braids, de chanvres tirés au cordeau. of lined-up hemp strands. Rien n’est si beau. Nothing is so beautiful. La peau d’anguille sèche et nette, The skin of an eel dry and clean, que l’on ratisse qu’on aprête, that is combed and prepared, en fait le précieux cordon. goes to make the laces. Rien n’est si bon. Nothing is so good.

5 5 Thaïs, que vous serés contente: Thaïs, you will be pleased: la serge est joliment piquante; the serge is delightfully prickly; c’est un très excellent morceau. it is a very excellent piece. Rien n’est si beau. Nothing is so beautiful. Manches d’étofe fort grossière, Sleeves of such crude material, le corset, fait à sa manière, the corset, made in its own way, est-elle bien comode? non. is it really comfortable? No. Rien n’est si bon. Nothing is so good.

6 6 Une cotte dont la teinture A tunic whose color vaut mieux que riche bigarrure; is worth more than a mixture of hues; oubli de l’art et du pinceau. art and the brush forgotten. Rien n’est si beau. Nothing is so beautiful. Ajoutés la robe de bure: Add to this the woolen robe: selon vos vœux pesante et dure; according to your vows, heavy and hard; c’est l’habit de toute saison. it is the habit for all seasons. Rien n’est si bon. Nothing is so good.

7 7 Notre manche est le Domicile Our sleeve is the Domicile du mouchoir meuble tant utile; of the handkerchief, so useful; pauvreté c’est ton vrai tableau. poverty is your true tableau. Rien n’est si beau. Nothing is so beautiful. De nos façons si l’humain gronde, If humans criticize our ways, nous déclarons la guerre au monde, we declare war on the world, pour lui pleine opposition. in full opposition to it. Rien n’est si bon. Nothing is so good. The Poetic Habit 67

8 8 Une ceinture magnifique, A magnificent waistband, d’un goût charmant, vrayment unique: of charming taste, truly unique: admirés en surtout l’anneau. admire above all the ring. Rien n’est si beau. Nothing is so good. Nous en somes à la coïfure: Now we come to the headdress: tout est simple dans sa figure; all is simple in its figure; quatre épingles font sa façon. its style consists of four hairpins. Rien n’est si bon. Nothing is so good.

9 9 La toque n’est point à la mode, The cap is not in fashion, mais que le grand voile est comode : but the great veil is comfortable: il nous sert d’un heureux tombeau. it provides us with a joyful tomb. Rien n’est si beau. Nothing is so beautiful. Ah! Plus au monde l’on se cache, Ah! the more we hide ourselves from the world, plus à notre Dieu l’on s’attache; the more we bind ourselves to God; solide consolation. solid consolation. Rien n’est si bon. Nothing is so good.

10 10 A Marie étant consacrées, Being devoted to Mary, nous portons ses saintes livrées: we wear her saintly livery: un gros chapelet de noyau. a great rosary of kernels. Rien n’est si beau. Nothing is so beautiful. La vierge y met sa complaisance; The virgin gives it her indulgence; qui le dit avec confiance whoever says it confidently peut espérer un vrai pardon. can expect true forgiveness. Rien n’est si bon. Nothing is so good.

11 11 Mais passons au St Scapulaire, But let us move on to the Holy Scapular, ornement que chacun révère, ornament revered by all, ainsi, que notre blanc manteau. as is our white cloak. Rien n’est si beau. Nothing is so beautiful. Sa buchette frape la vüe: Its wooden button strikes the eye: agraffe du monde inconüe, a fastener unknown to the world, nécessaire, sufit, dit-on. necessary, sufficient, it is said. Rien n’est si bon. Nothing is so good.

12 12 Le crucifix, notre Esperance, The crucifix, our Hope, objet d’amour, de confiance object of love, of confidence devant nos yeux come un flambeau. before our eyes like a torch. 68 EMWJ Vol . 9, No . 2 • Spring 2015 Daniel Hanna

Rien n’est si beau. Nothing is so beautiful. Mais, objet si cher à notre âme But, object so dear to our soul qui la pénètre, qui l’enflame that penetrates and enflames it d’amour et de componction. with love and compunction. Rien n’est si bon. Nothing is so good.

13 13 Sandale, au pied nécessaire; Sandal, necessary to the foot; son bois, son cuir tout sait m’en plaire. its wood, its leather all please me. par elle je puis braver l’eau. With it I can brave the water. Rien n’est si beau. Nothing is so beautiful. Dans cet accoutrement d’hermite, In this hermit’s outfit, heureuse est une Carmélite; a Carmelite is happy; Dieu est sa pretension. God is her aspiration. Rien n’est si bon. Nothing is so good.

14 14 Habit pour qui Thays s’empressa, Habit toward which Thais hastened, habit qui fait notre allégresse, habit that makes our happiness, du saint (?) est le vrai tombeau. it is the true tomb of the saint (?).2 Rien n’est si beau. Nothing is so beautiful. Habit, S(ain)t habit respectable, Habit, Holy habit, so respectable, mais pour l’enfer si formidable: but to Hell so formidable: il fait à l’univers leçon. it is a lesson to the universe. Rien n’est si bon. Nothing is so good.

15 15 Mais, Thays, j’ose vous le dire: But Thays, I dare say to you: l’habit seul ne vous peut sufire; the habit alone will not suffice; Terese est votre vrai tableau. Teresa is your true portrait. Rien n’est si beau. Nothing is so beautiful. Aimés, suivés ce grand modèle, Love and follow this great model, mourés, mourés à tout comme elle; die, die to everything just as she did; Jésus est votre portion. Jesus is your lot. Rien n’est si bon. Nothing is so good.

2 Stanza fourteen of this poem, in minuscule, almost illegible handwriting, appears to have been inserted after the poem was initially written. The stanza’s third verse, in which I have added a question mark above, is especially unclear, and “The true tomb of the saint” is my best guess as to the transcription. The Poetic Habit 69

16 16 Qu’à son gré notre époux vous forme, May our spouse mold you to his will, qu’en tout vous lui soyés conforme, may you be true to him in everything, qu’il vous marque de son grand sceau. may he mark you with his great seal. Rien n’est si beau. Nothing is so beautiful. C’est le sort d’une Carmélite, It is the destiny of a Carmelite, traitée en Epouse délite; treated as an elite Spouse; O! L’heureuse vocation. Oh! Happy vocation. Rien n’est si bon. Nothing is so good.

17 17 Priés pour des sœurs imbéciles Pray for the stupid sisters qui, come poëtes mal habiles, who, as incompetent poets dans leur Esprit, dans leur pinceau, in their minds, in their [artist’s] brush, N’ont rien de beau. have nothing beautiful. Nos cœurs pour vous par leur tendresse For you, our hearts in their tenderness passent tout en délicatesse, take everything with gentleness, mais payés nous en la façon. but repay us in the same way. Rien n’est si bon. Nothing is so good.