intelligence and extraordinary energy. Zélie described herself, without realizing it, when she wanted to instruct her brother on a choice for a good wife: “The main thing is to look for a good woman who is domestic, who is not afraid to get her hands dirty when she works, who does not spend time on her appearance except for what is necessary, and who knows how to raise children to work and to be holy.”19 Of course, all this advice lacks any romanticism. Louis and Zélie didn’t lack a romantic side, but at a time when marriages of love were the exception, Zélie’s advice demonstrates the common sense of a woman from Normandy. Zélie was a good wife for Louis, and he was very complimentary of her.
Calm and thoughtful, he assumed the responsibility for the family and supported his wife with great tenderness. People often said that he was a gentle man, at times implying that he was a bit soft, but he was far from being soft, and he was just as hardworking as his wife. His extreme gentleness at the end of his life—so striking to those around him—was acquired more by a faithful practice of charity than by any innate characteristic of his. Thérèse would say that, following the example of St. Francis de Sales, he had managed to master his natural vivacity to the point that he seemed to have the sweetest nature in the world.
Louis took concern for others no less than Zélie did. He was above all a man of great uprightness, tolerating neither injustice nor hypocrisy. His determined temperament was fully in play when it was a question of fighting for spiritual causes or against inequities. Despite not liking to write, he pestered officials with his letters to help a needy man be admitted into a home for the elderly. Zélie’s goodness softened his sharp angles, inspiring him by her example to have more mercy toward an undeserving worker or stopping him from getting too wrapped up in solitude. In addition to sharing the same native milieu, similar social ideas, generous hearts, and energy put to good use, Louis and Zélie had in common a preference for work that required finesse and patience, and, above all, they both had a thirst for God.
According to the unanimous testimony of their daughters and their family letters, the communication between the spouses was deep and real. They spoke frankly to each other and often knew what the other was thinking: “He didn’t need to say it; I knew very well what he thought.”20 Louis didn’t hesitate to tell his wife about his past temptations in Paris so that his story could be of help to her brother, Isidore, when he went to Paris to study. They likewise spoke about a thousand and one things concerning daily life and their children’s adventures. Their favorite topic of conversation was faith, and they liked to read the lives of the saints together and discuss them, sharing their impressions and edifying each other.
They also knew how to respect quiet times and give each other space to accommodate their differences: Louis would regularly go to the Pavilion property or leave on pilgrimage. Zélie in turn would take time to write letters to her brother and sister or to attend devotional meetings.
In terms of daily worries, large or small, they handled them together. Louis often reassured Zélie, who ever since her childhood had a propensity to worry. “Once again, do not torment yourself so much,” he would say. At the end of her life she wrote about her husband, “He was always my consoler and my support.”21 Zélie herself was also a support for him—for example, when Louis was concerned about her health: “I have seen my husband often torment himself on this issue for my sake, while I stayed very calm. I would say to him, ‘Don’t be afraid, God is with us.’”22 When worries entered the household, it was she, as the heart of that home, who cheered everybody up. Louis and Zélie were pillars for each other in a wonderfully harmonious way.
Of course, the couple had frictions that created small, unforeseen annoyances. Louis, for example, despite being a seasoned traveler, forgot one day to get off the train with his daughters when they were coming back to Alençon from Lisieux, which left his wife waiting eagerly at home with the uneaten meal that she had spent the morning preparing. Once the initial annoyance was over, she quickly laughed about it when she wrote about the incident to Isidore. Although they sometimes argued, it didn’t poison their relationship, as seen in the following anecdote. Pauline, who was seven years old at the time, approached her mother after hearing voices raised and asked if that was what people meant by “getting along poorly together.” Zélie burst out laughing and quickly told her husband who also laughed. From that time on Pauline’s inquiry became a family joke.
As with many couples, the major topic of disagreement concerned the children. Although Louis and Zélie were perfectly in accord on the general topic of education for their children, their opinions could diverge when it came to minor decisions. When Zélie took Céline to Lisieux with her when she was a baby, Louis thought it was madness. He himself sent Marie off to boarding school when she was sick, against Zélie’s advice (which caused an outbreak of measles throughout the whole school). Zélie’s accounts carry no resentment about all that and, on the contrary, show a healthy balance.
Louis made most of the decisions, as a man of his time and as a biblical man, so to speak: “Wives, be subject to your husbands, as to the Lord. For the husband is head of the wife as Christ is head of the church…. As the Church is subject to Christ, so let wives also be subject in everything to their husbands. Let each one of you love his wife as himself, and let the wife see that she respects her husband” (Eph 5:22-24, 33). The Martins perfectly embodied this model of a Gospel couple, giving it a human face.
Louis didn’t exercise his authority in a unilateral manner. He was open to discussion, and even when he didn’t adopt his wife’s views, he let her do things her own way. As the old saying goes, “What the woman wants is what God wants.” That was true in the Martin family as seen in this delightful story that Zélie related to Pauline:
As for Marie’s retreat at the Visitation Monastery, you know how he doesn’t like to be separated from any of you, and he had first expressly said that she could not go. I saw that he was adamant about this, so I didn’t try to plead her case. I just determined very resolutely to come back to the subject. Last night, Marie was complaining about this issue. I told her, “Let me take care of it; I always get what I want without having to fight. There is still a month to go and that is enough time to persuade your father ten times over.”
I wasn’t wrong because hardly an hour afterward when he came home, he started talking to your sister in a friendly way as she was energetically working. I said to myself, “Good, this is the right time.”… So I brought up the issue. Your father asked Marie, “Do you really want to go on this retreat?” When she said yes, he said, “Ok, then, you can go.” And you know he is someone who doesn’t like our absences and unplanned expenses, so he was telling me just yesterday, “If I don’t want her to go there, she will of course not go. There seems to be no end to all these trips to Le Mans and Lisieux.” I agreed with him then, but I had an ulterior motive because for a long time I’ve known how these things work. When I tell someone, “My husband does not want it,” it is because I don’t want the thing any more than he does. But when I have a good reason on my side, I know how to help him decide, and I found I had a good reason for wanting Marie to go on the retreat.
It’s true that it’s an expense, but money is nothing when it comes to the sanctification and perfection of one’s soul. Last year, Marie came back to me all transformed with fruit that lasted, but she needs to renew her supply now. Besides, that is also what your father essentially believes and why he yielded so nicely.23
Notice that if Zélie can so sweetly “manipulate” her husband it’s because they are essentially in agreement deep down. Besides, “manipulate” is the wrong word for a woman who, a few days later in writing to her daughter, picked up right where she had left off
