Sunday, 4 June 1876

When Jesus healed the lunatic, his disciples asked him why those who had tried had been unable to cure him. And Jesus replied:
— It is because of your unbelief; for verily I say unto you, if ye had faith as a grain of mustard seed, ye would say to this mountain: Remove hence to yonder place; and it would remove, and nothing would be impossible unto you.
Reading these words I was as if illuminated, and for the first time, perhaps, I believed in God. I rose, feeling I no longer existed as myself; I clasped my hands, I raised my head, I was smiling — I was in ecstasy.
Oh! Yes, I believed; I told God that I had faith; I understood the source of my misfortunes — my lack of faith, my sacrilegious doubts. Oh! Never, never shall I doubt again. Not in order to deserve something, but because I am convinced, because I believe! If I doubted, it is almost not my fault — I had never read the Scriptures. Until the age of twelve I was spoiled; my wishes were gratified, but no one ever thought of my education (I had governesses from the age of two). Maman was not capable — she herself knows little, she believes through superstition, and there is nothing to be found in her on that score. At twelve I asked for tutors; they were given to me; I took lessons and that was all. I drew up the programme myself. I owe everything to myself — they merely paid for the lessons.
After this enthusiastic outburst I was afraid — afraid of falling into exaggeration, afraid of the convent. Oh! No — I was transformed, I was joyful. And so I slept well and woke more calm. For the devil knows what reason my left foot is swollen, which annoys me. While I was painting Collignon's hand (7th sitting), my aunt came in with a letter for me. But I did not for a moment believe it came from Rome — I would not let myself believe it, for fear of being mistaken. I was troubled nonetheless. It is Ricardo writing from his château in Savoy, near the Isère.
My aunt has received sixteen thousand roubles, and everyone has gone to Monaco.
Bibi comes during dinner, and afterward we go up to my room and raise a religious question that sets all my dictionaries in motion and provokes very interesting debates between myself, Collignon, and Bihovetz. Dina kept interrupting us with stories about Galula or Marcelle. I was entirely serious; we leafed through the Bible, traced the beginnings of the Church, the Church of Jesus. The first popes, the first sects of the 2nd and 3rd centuries. The Montanists and the Novatians, who were the first to refute confession. And indeed, it is well known that confession has existed almost since the beginning of the world, among the Egyptian priests.
As for Christianity, confession was obligatory only following some crime, and even then it was public. This was not always convenient; and so from the 3rd century onward it became private, though still voluntary. It was not until 1215, at the Third Lateran Council, that Innocent III made it obligatory once a year. I believe confession is a good thing, since the need for it made itself felt — it was neither invented nor imposed, but the need arose naturally. What is infamous and absurd, however, is the purchase of indulgences.
In general, the priest has no right to grant forgiveness.
Jesus gave that power to his apostles, but his apostles were saints, all inspired by the divine breath. Whereas their successors are mere men, appointed to serve in churches and to care for souls as best they can. They cannot forgive — and still less sell that forgiveness. By that reckoning, any villain can commit the greatest wickedness and go straight to heaven by paying his way!
— Whatsoever ye shall bind on earth shall be bound in heaven; and whatsoever ye shall loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven. It is on the basis of these words that priests have arrogated to themselves the right to absolve.
You must admit that is rather far-fetched.
Then the question of Jean XIII was raised — he who was, it is said, a female pope. I am forced to admit that this legend is confirmed nowhere. And yet M. Cornélius, grand-papa's father-in-law, once when this was being discussed, drew from his splendid library a Latin manuscript and translated the passage describing the ceremony of the election of a Pope, and the occasion on which this ceremony was instituted. Old Cornélius was very learned. And I myself have seen at the Vatican a most extraordinary chair which I was told is used in the ceremony whereby the sex of a newly elected pope is verified.
Moreover, is not this question addressed to the candidate: Habeas...?
So that the discussions should not make us too solemn, I would suddenly read out in the middle of a sentence on theology a maxim of La Rochefoucauld, and these profane words contrasted so sharply with the others that we burst out laughing. It was like black velvet beside white satin.
Absence diminishes mediocre passions and increases great ones, as wind extinguishes candles and fans fire.
Now that is striking. Ah! if all maxims were as true and just as that one.
Oh! Antonelli! Cursed be he for his weakness and his cowardice! It is absurd to think he deceived me, for in that case he would not have spoken of it to his parents, and those people on their side would have made no approach. But how to explain this silence? I have my explanation. He has been sent away from Rome — more than probable. But what a cowardly heart! Oh! No — he does not love me; even the weakest people draw energy from their love. Especially a love that is returned — for after all he does not know that I do not love him. How can one love such a man?
Did he not repeat to me ten times, without my asking,
— I will come to Nice, I will write to you every day.
But he was forbidden to love me, and he obeyed.
God! What on earth did they write from Nice!
O rage, O shame!
Yes, I believe in God, in Jesus Christ — but that does not mean that God pays attention to me. Doubtless he sees me, he hears me, but he does not grant my prayers.
And yet when that woman came to beg him to heal her daughter, did he not reply, seeing no doubt to the depths of her soul: "O woman, great is thy faith; and mercy shall be shown thee."
Does he not see the depth of my faith, and will he not show mercy?
Yesterday I clasped my hands, raised my eyes to heaven, and besought God to make me forget myself, not to think of striking attitudes.
I wished to think of God alone, and I thought of him alone, and he heard me and understood me.
Everything has changed since yesterday. Before, I prayed out of despair; now I pray out of conviction.

Notes

lunatique: in the 1870s French religious context, an epileptic or demoniac (as in Matthew 17:14–20), not merely a moody person. Marie quotes from her Bible reading.
The Montanists (2nd century) and Novatians (3rd century) were early Christian schismatic sects. The Novatians denied the Church's power to absolve those who had lapsed under persecution — a position touching on the authority to "bind and loose."
Pope Innocent III (1198–1216) at the Fourth Lateran Council (1215) — Marie slightly conflates it with the Third. The 1215 council mandated annual confession for all Catholics.
Marie refers to the legend of Pope Joan, sometimes called John VIII — a purported female pope of the 9th century. The legend is not supported by contemporary sources.
sedia stercoraria: the pierced or perforated chair, a contested fixture in medieval papal election ritual whose function remains debated by historians.
The truncated Latin phrase from the Pope Joan legend, implying the ritual verification question addressed to a newly elected pope.
La Rochefoucauld, Maximes, no. 276 (1678). Marie quotes it with approval in the next paragraph.