Adrien has given me the history of Christopher Columbus in English. You are aware that this son of Genoa, this heroic discoverer, wore the tunic and girdle of the Third Order when he landed on that shore, so long dreamed of, which gave a new world to the church of God. It is said that this great man had at times ecstasies of faith and love. What glory for the family of the patriarch of Assisi! Edouard assured me yesterday that Raphael and Michael Angelo were also of the Third Order. This austerity appears naturally to suit the painter of the Last Judgment, but I cannot picture to myself the young, brilliant, and magnificent Sanzio in a serge habit. What centuries were those, my sister, when power and greatness and splendor sought after humility as a safeguard, and followed in the footsteps of the chosen one of God, who, in the lofty words of Dante, had espoused on Mount Alverna noble Poverty, who had had no spouse since Jesus Christ had died on Calvary! Poetry was not wanting to the crown of the Seraph of Assisi, himself so admirable a poet. Lopez de Vega was also of the Third Order.
Adrien says that our age has had its Francis of Assisi in the heavenly Curé d’Ars, who is perhaps the greatest marvel in this epoch, fertile as it is in miracles. How much we regret not having seen him, especially as we passed so near!
Picciola has the measles. This pretty child is attacked by a violent
fever; it is sad to see her, but she will not suffer herself to be pitied. “Our Lord suffered much more,” she says. “What is this?” You see, sister, that hereabouts the children of the saints have not degenerated.
Anna, who had the measles last year, faithfully keeps the sick child company. I overheard them talking just now. “Would you like to get well quickly?” asked the Italiana. “Oh! no, I am not sorry to suffer a little to prepare for my First Communion.” “For my part, though, I pray with all my heart that you may soon get up; it is too sad to see you so red under your curtains, whilst the sun is shining out there.” “Listen to me, dear: ask the good God to help me to suffer well, without my mother being troubled about it. We are not to enjoy ourselves in this world, as M. l’Abbé says, but to merit heaven.” I slipped away, lest my tears should betray me: I am afraid that Picciola may also leave us.
Pray for your Georgina, dear Kate.
April 22, 1868.
The wish of this little angel has been granted: her measles torture her; there are very large spots which greatly perplex the doctor. She is as if on fire, but always smiling and thoughtful, and so grateful for the least thing done for her! What an admirable disposition she has! Last night the femme de chambre, whose duty it was to watch by her, went to sleep, and the poor little one was for six hours without drinking; the doctor having ordered her to take a few spoonfuls of tisane every quarter of an hour. It was the sleeper who told us of this; and when I gently scolded the darling Picciola, she whispered to me: “Dear aunt, I heard you mention what the good gentleman said
who founded the company of St. Sulpice: ‘A Christian is another Jesus Christ on earth.’ Let me, then, suffer a little in union with our Lord.”
What do you say to this heavenly science, this perfect love, in a child of twelve years old? O my God! is she too pure for this world? They assure me that there is no danger, but my heart is in anguish. Kate, I do so love this child!