But, while the Maréchale talked with her and prayed with her, the girl's heart was softened. She began to attend the meetings, and soon gave her heart to the Lord Jesus. Born in a prison, and saved from suicide in the Seine, she became in turn her rescuer's best comforter in an hour of supreme sorrow.
When the Maréchale at length plucked up heart to revisit England, after a long absence and silence, her steps were directed to the home of a dear friend and kindred spirit in South London. It was in early girlhood that Mrs. Holman of Jerviston was first attracted to the Maréchale. Her mother had, as Lady Mayoress, invited Miss Booth, before the work began in France, to address a drawing-room meeting in her house, and the indelible impressions made on a receptive mind on that day proved an inspiration to a lifetime of quiet and devoted service of Christ. But so timid and dejected had the Maréchale become that she dreaded the reception that might await her even in the home of a lifelong friend! She trembled as she dragged herself across Streatham Common. She sat down on a seat and—her ruling passion strong as ever—spoke to a beggar about his soul, feeling a certain new kinship with all outcasts and pariahs. When she stood before her friend's door she scarcely had courage to ring the bell, and if she had been told to go to the kitchen and have a cup of tea with the servants, she would have answered quite simply, "Yes, I will go." But Mr. Holman himself opened the door, and his hearty welcome and the outflow of a perfect sympathy at once cast all her fears to the winds. Her friends were ministering angels to her. They nursed her back to health, dried her tears, and made her smile. Their little daughter—now one of the sweetest singers in London—carolled to her every morning and awoke "the hallelujah bird" again in her own breast. And God Himself was meanwhile doing for her what even the best of friends could not do—giving her the Resurrection Life, re-animating her hope, baptising her afresh with the Spirit, not of fear, but of power and of love, breaking all shackles and making her free—free from the ensnaring fear of man, free to obey the Divine call she had received even as a child—woman's Pentecostal call to prophesy for Christ, her one and only Master.
Aller An fang ist schwer, and the difficulties which the Maréchale encountered at the resumption of her work were enough to make any but the stoutest heart faint. If she had in the past shown a bravery transcending that of even the bravest all this was of small account compared to the heroism now required of her. In the past she had the help of her own people, her spiritual children, and a strong organization back of her. Now she was utterly alone, thousands all over the world had an erroneous conception of the entire situation, and many even believed she had made shipwreck of her faith. Her daughter Victoria stands out during that lonely period of beginnings. With remarkably clear judgment, discernment and sympathy she cheered and inspired her mother with her own enthusiastic hopefulness and vivid faith.
The greatest service anyone could render the Maréchale was to bid her go on, fulfil her destiny, believe that God would again mightily use and bless her. It might seem a small thing to say, "Be of good cheer," yet it was one of those "little nothings" for which she was ever afterwards profoundly grateful. I remember her coming one evening into my Chelsea study in a mood of depression, baffled by life's insoluble mysteries. Wondering what would lighten for her the burden and the weary weight, I took down Browning and began to read "Rabbi ben Ezra," which was new to her. From the opening words—
The best is yet to be,
The last of life, for which the first was planned—
to the magnificent close, that inspired Sursum Corda thrilled her as a message direct from the great Heart of God. Only in one thing did she venture to differ from the poet. "He sees his heaven beyond," she said; "I want mine down here in the salvation of souls."
As soon as she resumed her work, she had her reward in signs following everywhere. Doors opened to her, first in England, then in Scotland, Ireland and Wales. She brought the breath of life into many churches, rekindled the zeal of many workers for Christ, and broke the chains which had bound multitudes of souls to an evil past.
Her own experience had given her, as a physician of souls, perhaps a deeper sympathy, a surer insight, a greater power to grapple with every form of evil than ever she had before. It became her mission to save people from themselves by convincing them that only one thing is entirely worth doing—living like Christ by letting Christ live in them. There are certainly few evangelists who have changed the whole current of so many lives in our country. Young ladies about to pass within convent walls have found a more excellent way by receiving the living Christ into their hearts. Actors and singers have consecrated their gifts to Christ and His kingdom. Young men of the world have heard the call of God and resolved to enter the ministry or go to the mission-field. God's gift of life has revealed to many questioning eyes its glorious possibilities. Multitudes who had no faith have heard another say that she has faith for them—a faith which has somehow dispelled the mists of doubt and error and brought them into the sunlight of Divine love.
At the same time her ever-deepening knowledge of her two books, the Bible and the Heart of Man, have made her a unique preacher to preachers. One night at Keswick, in the summer of 1907, a brilliant young Scottish minister, who was a member of a large house-party of clergymen attending the annual Convention, came home late for supper.
"Excuse me," he said, as he sat down, "but I could not tear myself away from the open-air meeting in the Square. I never heard such speaking in my life. I stood transfixed. The preacher was the daughter of General Booth, and I never knew the English language was such a magnificent weapon until to-night. Her preaching was extraordinary."