Ce pouvoir inconnu qu’on accorde à la lyre,
Cet art mystérieux de charmer par la voix,
Si l’on dit que je l’ai, Seigneur, je te le dois.”[32]
Karl tells me that he carefully keeps on his heart the last words traced by Ellen. It is like the testament of our saintly darling, whom I seem still to see. I had omitted to mention this. The evening before her death, after I had written by her side the solemn and touching effusions for those who had not, like us, been witnesses of the admirable spectacle of her deliverance, the breaking of the bonds which held her captive in this world of sorrows, Ellen asked me to let her write. Ten minutes passed in this effort, this victorious wrestling of the soul over sickness and weakness. On the sealed envelope which she then gave me was written one word only—“Karl.” Would you like to have this last adieu, Kate? How I have kissed these two almost illegible lines:
“My beloved husband, I leave you this counsel of St. Bernard for your consolation: ‘Holy soul, remain alone, in order that thou mayest keep thyself for Him alone whom thou hast chosen above all!’”
What a track of light our sweet Ellen has left behind her! Love me, dearest Kate!
January 25.
We leave in a week, my dearest Kate. René made a point of returning to the south, whose blue sky we shall not quit without regret; and also he wished to pray once more with us in Ellen’s room. Karl does not wish the Chalet of souvenirs to pass into strange hands. He had rented it for a year; René proposed to him to buy it, and the matter was settled yesterday. I am writing to Mistress Annah, to lay before her the offer of a good work, capable of tempting her self-devotion—namely, that she should install herself at the chalet, and there take in a few poor sick people, and we might perhaps return thither. What do you think of this plan, dearest Kate?
We are all in love with Marcella and her pretty little girl, who are glad to accompany us to Orleans. Gertrude has offered Hélène’s room to our new friend, whose melancholy is gradually disappearing. It is needless to say that she is by no means indifferent to Kate. You would love her, dear sister, and bless God with me for having placed her on our path. She has the head of an Italian Madonna, expressive, sympathetic, sweet; her portrait will be my first work when we return to Orleans.
On this day, eighteen centuries ago, St. Paul was struck to the earth on his way to Damascus; he fell a persecutor of Christ, and arose an apostle of that faith for which he would in due time give his life. Let us also be apostles, my sister.