written and only too painfully probable. The beautiful Gertrude—a noble intellect, but entirely without direction—who through so many storms preserves her purity; the father devoid of affection; the Spanish mother, consumed by suffering, but whose mind would have exercised so powerful an influence over that of her daughter; M. d’Arberg, a hero and martyr of Christian self-devotion; the angelic Mary, whose gentle character beams throughout all the narrative like a reflection of heaven—all this is interesting, perhaps far too much so. René, to whom I mentioned Marcella’s impressions, said in answer: “I do not like these exciting dramas, but rather such readings as give rest to the mind, and I can understand what St. Augustine meant by saying that he could not enjoy any book in which there was not to be found the name of Jesus. ‘The name of Jesus is a name of delight,’ says St. Bonaventure; ‘because, meditated upon, it is nourishment; uttered, it is sweetness; invoked, it is an unction; written, a reparation of our powers, and in all that we do it is a guide and support.’ St. Philip Neri also says: ‘The name of Jesus pronounced with reverence and love has a particular power of softening the heart.’” Dear and beloved sister, pax vobis et nobis!
January 29, 1869.
The corridors encumbered with packages, the windows without curtains—everything shows that we are going away. Anna constantly has this fever, and the poor mother a sword in her heart. The twins pray earnestly, our poor make novenas. How impatient I am to be at Orleans! The good doctor from Hyères, the devoted friend of Marcella, will be there also on the 3d, to give
his opinion respecting the dear child’s state. May God be with us!
Have been out with René. Marcella never leaves her daughter. My sisters are busy with their children. Gertrude helps my mother in her correspondence. Visits to our dear neighbors who do not move about. The Southerns are installed in a tolerably comfortable cottage, the father has found some work, the young daughters will be employed as needle-women by our kind neighbors and in the village; all is satisfactory with regard to them. Edward writes heartrending letters to his good friend René. He declares that he will run away, and other things of the same sort. Pray for this little volcano, dear Kate.
A letter from Karl, whose first steps in the priesthood are rewarded by joys truly celestial. Oh! what grandeur is in the sacerdotal life; but also what sacrifices. I forgot at the time to tell you of a visit we paid the old English Homer, whose daughter was the involuntary cause of Margaret’s trouble. Oh! how beautiful she is. Tall, very tall, with black eyes full of mental vigor, luxuriant hair, remarkable purity of diction. Another flower for the cloister. Will not so many excellent souls obtain the redemption of England?
Kate dearest, with you I ask of God: Trahe me post te; or rather I would say. Trahe nos. A thousand kisses.
February 10, 1869.
“My son, let not thy soul give way beneath the labors which thou hast undertaken for me, neither suffer thyself to be discouraged by affliction, but at all times let my promise strengthen and comfort thee.” René has just read me
these words, by way of consolation for Marcella’s departure. Alas! yes; she left us yesterday, very tearfully, with the doctor. She will again inhabit her châlet. I would willingly have offered her the one consecrated by the death of Ellen, but this association! Anna is so pale and weak, apparently undermined by the fever which never quits her. The doctor shook his head in a manner which did not augur hopefully. I questioned him apart. “You have carried away this pretty little one from us too soon, madam,” he said. “She needs the sun, the Mediterranean, the orange-trees, and the perfumes of the South. I do not conceal from you that I greatly dread for her the isolation in which she will shortly find herself.” I was dreading it also. René had an inspiration: “If Madeleine were to go as well?” “The graceful young girl who always looks at me with tears in her eyes?” “The same.” “If you will believe the testimony of my medical experience, monsieur, this child is also threatened.” I could not restrain a cry of pain: “O my God! my God!” “Pardon me, madam,” said the good doctor; “on no account whatever would I afflict the family of Mme. de Clissey, but if you love this pretty creature, do not keep her here.”