The following texts were written by Titus Brandsma (1881–1942) after his arrest on January 19, 1942, in Scheveningen prison, cell no. 577.
Something must speak here, in this bare cell! Before me, I have built a small altar, or whatever to call it. In my cell lay a chessboard with pieces for the game of checkers... There was also a sheet of wrapping paper. I wrapped the chessboard in it, and with a cigar needle – one must manage, as my knife and scissors were taken – I made small notches in the paper, between which I secured three small images from my breviary. Thus, I have before me the image of Jesus on the cross, not the full figure, but a nice bust with a wound in the heart. On one side, I fixed St. Teresa (of Avila) with her saying mori aut pati (to die or to suffer); on the other side, St. John of the Cross with his pati et contemni (to suffer and to be despised). I found two more needles; I used one to attach a horizontal piece of paper under these three depictions, on which was Teresa's saying: Nada te turbe (let nothing disturb you), etc., in the middle: God so close and distant, God is always present, and finally my own saying: Prenez les jours comme ils arrivent (take the days as they come), etc. I had no loose image of the Virgin Mary in my breviary, yet her image belongs in a Carmelite cell. I managed with that too. In the part of the breviary that I am currently using, which fortunately was left to me, there is a beautiful depiction of Our Lady of Mount Carmel by Anna Maria von Oer at the beginning. My breviary stands wide open at this depiction on the upper of two corner planks to the left above the bed. It is enough for me to glance briefly to the right from the table, and I have her beautiful image before me. When I lie on the bed, my gaze first falls on this bearer of stars, Spes omnium Carmelitarum (Hope of all Carmelites).
Beata Solitudo (blessed solitude). Here, in this small cell, I already feel completely at home. I have not yet been bored here. I am alone, yes, but the good God has never been so close to me. Even though I cannot go out to the people nor can the people come to me, I feel like shouting for joy because He has allowed me to find Him again in His fullness. He is now my only refuge, and I feel happy and safe. I want to stay here forever, if He arranges it that way. I have rarely been so happy and content.
(1) The entire poem by Teresa, from which the saying is taken, reads:
Let nothing disturb you,
let nothing frighten you,
everything passes.
God does not change,
patience
achieves everything.
Whoever has God,
lacks nothing.
God alone suffices.
Taken from the book: Grundkurs Spiritualität des Karmel
Author: Elisabeth Hense, TOCarm.
Translated and revised by: Norbert Žuška, O.Carm.
