—George Eliot.
Among those who seem to have been born for ministry, and who have been distinguished by their capacity for tender devotion, few deserve to be more lastingly and lovingly remembered than Eugénie de Guérin, the honoured sister of Maurice de Guérin. Few instances of sisterhood are more deeply interesting and pathetic.
The Guérins are descended from an old and illustrious family of the Venetian race who were settled in France early in the ninth century, when one of the name (then spelt Guarini) was Count of Auvergne. One branch of the family became Lords of Montagu and Earls of Salisbury, who counted among their number Guérin, Bishop of Senlis.
Eugénie de Guérin was a member of the branch who had for a long period been settled at Le Cayla, in Languedoc, in the sunny South of France, whose descent and nobility were fully recognised, but which had become very much impoverished during the troublous times of the Revolution. She was born in the year 1805, having a brother—Erembert, whose familiar name in the Le Cayla circle was Eran—a few years older. Next in order came Marie ("Mimi"); and when Eugénie was five years old, the youngest and most tenderly cherished—Maurice—was added to the little flock. Monsieur and Madame de Guérin were people of rare excellence, and they and their children were one and all bound by ties of the strongest affection, the example of loving self-denial set by their elders permeating the whole family.
Madame de Guérin was from the birth of Maurice in failing health; and in their earliest years the children, probably left much to themselves, were fond playmates, and learnt to love the dilapidated old château, which was their home, with its curious crannies and winding passages, no less than the solemn, whispering woods and smiling fields which surrounded it. But Maurice was a delicate child, and had during his babyhood but a feeble hold upon life. His sister has said that "his soul seemed often on his lips, ready to flee away," and he lay ill for a year. The tenderness always shown by Eugénie to this brother thus began with his earliest years, and continued until his hard-fought life was closed. It was not her position as elder sister that dictated this so much as the lovingness of her sensitive nature, her disposition to protect and cherish all things weak and suffering. When Maurice was about two years old, Eugénie, who had been staying away from home, brought a little frock she had made for him. After she had dressed him in it she led him out of the house, and induced him to make his first few tottering steps. Then running to the house in excited delight, she gladdened her mother with the words: "Mother, Maurice has walked! has walked alone!"
From her childhood Eugénie was remarkable no less for her intelligence than for her religious sympathies. From the journal which she began to keep many years after we catch some pleasing glimpses of her childhood and home life. She was, as might be expected, brought up in the Roman Catholic faith; but in the Le Cayla circle the Catholic religion was one of sincere piety. We see in the Guérins the better side of Romanism, the good without a large admixture of the superstitions of that faith; and the only evil effect, if any, it had on the life of Eugénie was the encouragement of too much introspection, with its necessary accompaniment of a tendency to the morbid. She mentions that in saying her morning and evening prayers she was taught to kneel before a picture of the crucifixion. Here she brought her childish troubles before the representation of the dying Saviour and received consolation. On one occasion, having stained a new frock, she asked the Saviour to take away the stains in order that she might be saved a scolding. As the stains disappeared she believed her prayer had been answered. Believing, as she did, in the Divine presence always surrounding her, she imagined an angel given to have charge of the nursery, which she called the "Angel Joujou." Among the friends of her childhood she mentions a cousin Victor, who being a frequent visitor at Le Cayla, became a great favourite, and helped very much to smooth for Eugénie the difficulties of learning to read, and then making her happy by wonderful stories and taking captive her warm and loving little heart.
She became passionately fond of Nature, both in its grander and more minute charms, by day and by night. She has recorded how, while on a visit to relatives at Gaillac, she would after going to bed often get up, open the window and lean out to watch the stars. As this was carrying her love of Nature a little too far, we cannot be surprised that, having one night been discovered, her aunts took the precaution of preventing her falling from the window by having it nailed up.
So long as the childhood of the little De Guérins lasted it was an intensely happy one. But the time came all too soon when, for Eugénie, the joys of childhood were to give place to almost mature care; when her childish affection for her brother Maurice was to be succeeded by an anxious and almost maternal solicitude. Madame de Guérin, for years an uncomplaining sufferer, was taken from them when Eugénie was thirteen, Maurice eight. The impression left upon her mind by her mother's death was so great, and her grief so profound, that we find her after a lapse of sixteen years recording her feelings thus in her journal: "To-day my whole soul looks from the sky to a tomb, for on it sixteen years ago my mother died at midnight. This sad anniversary is consecrated to mourning and prayer. I have spent it before God in regrets and in hope; even while I weep, I lift my eyes and see the heavens where my mother is without doubt happy, for she suffered so much! Her illness was long, and her spirit patient. I do not remember a single complaint escaping her, or that she cried out at all, notwithstanding the pain that tore her; no Christian ever bore suffering better. One saw that she had learnt it before the Cross. She would smile upon her bed like a martyr on the rack. Her face never lost its serenity, and even in her agony she seemed to be thinking of a festival. This surprised me who saw her suffer so much, and I myself who wept at the least thing and knew not the meaning of resignation under pain. And when they told me that she was going to die I looked at her, and her cheerful aspect made me believe she would not. She did die, however, at midnight on April 2, whilst I had fallen asleep at the foot of her bed. Her quiet death did not waken me; never did soul leave the world with more tranquillity…. I was led into another room."
Before her death Madame de Guérin had committed the delicate little Maurice to Eugénie's protecting love. Henceforth she regarded him as a sacred trust, and while deeply loving all her kindred, while befriending all who came within the range of her sympathy, it was to Maurice her heart's great love went out with a yearning desire for his well-being. As years went on, and Maurice advanced in intelligence, all causes seemed to combine to draw the bond yet closer. There was not only the passionate sister's love, but hearts and mind were cast in a similar mould, and as tastes and inclinations became developed, the sacred promise to the dead mother—the tenderness of heart which led Eugénie to care for all things feeble, were strengthened by the added charm of kindred thought and pursuit.
Eugénie has recorded that Maurice from his earliest years showed a remarkable intelligence. One of his first masters on being asked by his father his opinion of his pupil replied, "Ah, sir! you have there a transcendent child." His sister said a pater every day that he might know his lessons. When only nine years old he was passionately fond of history and spent much leisure time with Rollin. He wept for joy at his first lesson in writing. She adds: "Maurice was an imaginative and dreamy child. He spent long periods contemplating the horizon. He was particularly fond of an almond-tree, under which he took refuge from any distraction. I have seen him remain there standing for whole hours." One of his enjoyments was to improvise sermons in the open air, which he declaimed, always with his sisters for audience, standing on a bank in the wood, which they called the pulpit of St. Chrysostom.