Read Anne Séverin, by Mrs. Craven, author of the Récit d’une Sœur. The style is perfect. The angelic women who appear in it, the Catholic youth of Guy, the fragrance of Christian sentiment which pervades the impassioned descriptions of these pages, combine to make them present a beautiful whole. Mme. Bourdon has reproached this work with having shown us three generations living by love alone; she recalls the answer made by Alexandrine when reminded of the happy days she had spent with
Albert: “I no longer think of those days.” Alexandrine was, as it were, transfigured by the love of God, and such sacrifices as hers are not required of every soul.
Did I tell you of my happiness at again seeing Sainte-Croix? I prefer our cathedrals of stone to the most beautiful churches of Italy, always excepting Saint Peter’s at Rome. It is so calm, so solemn, so Catholic! I cannot resist the pleasure of transcribing for you a fine passage by the eloquent Abbé Bougaud, in one of his discourses, I do not now remember which: “There is in the grandeur of Christianity at Orleans, in the touching beauty of its influence, in its permanent union with the destinies of the city, a monument which speaks more than any words. Whether Orleans was reached, as formerly, by ascending the Loire by steamboat, or whether, as now, by descending upon it on the railway, the first objects which attract observation are the spires and towers of Sainte-Croix. They have changed in form and aspect, and have been by turns ogival, romanesque, perhaps Byzantine—splendid always. In the full Middle Ages they were called by a historian ‘the eighth wonder of the world,’ and still, at the present time, whoever has seen them once loves to see them again, and whithersoever our studies, our reveries, or business take us, we never fail to return to them with pleasure or to salute them with emotion. Place near to this grand basilica, like two satellites, St. Euverte on the one side, with the tombs of its ancient bishops and its triple cemetery, Gallo-Roman and Christian, and on the other St. Aignan, with its precious relics, borne at times on the shoulders of kings, and its
crypt, visited by all Christendom, and you will have some idea of what Christianity has been at Orleans, or, if you like it better, what would have been wanting to this city had not Christianity been there with its mysterious beauty and its touching influence. Throughout the whole of this edifice, constructed at a period when men no longer knew how to build anything similar, in this cathedral, which must have cost efforts so prodigious, and which has been so justly called ‘the last of the Gothic cathedrals,’ appear engraven in indelible characters the two qualities which make the glory of Orleans, Fidelity and Courage.”
I do not talk to you about the sermons, not having been able to go and hear any at present. We have all had severe colds on the chest. My life is quite changed since I no longer have Marcella and Picciola. Perhaps I have been wrong to give up my heart in this manner. Oh! but then it is because the heart is so vast. Happy they who have asked God alone to fill it! This is what I say in my sadness, and it is wrong, since God’s goodness and mercy to me have indeed been marvellous. O dear Kate! if separation from a friend is so painful to me, what, then, would it be if Heaven were to deprive me of the sweet and strong support which it has bestowed? How much I hold to this world! Scold me, dearest, but love me.
March 10, 1869.
You have wound me up again, dear sister; a thousand thanks. Oh! how cowardly I was; I was afraid of suffering—that friend of the Christian, that visitor from God, that messenger from eternity!
Four letters: first, Marcella, who blesses Providence for the improvement
of her child—the fever has disappeared; second, Picciola, my delicious flower, who says to me the prettiest things in the world; third, Margaret, who is counting the days by the side of Emmanuel’s cradle; fourth, Edith, who feels herself stronger. By the way, the fiery Edward is becoming reasonable; his professors entertain the best hopes in his regard. Marianne wrote to me yesterday. She is not yet reassured respecting our sick child. You may imagine what precautions are taken to be careful about her without her knowledge. Dear, sweet little soul! she spends all that her purse contains for the benefit of the indigent. The amiable colony writes to us en masse. Nothing can be prettier than these gazettes. I had thought of sending them to you, but my mother makes them her daily reading. Edouard herborizes, composes music, sings, occupies himself with history, rocks the babies—that is to say, he amuses and plays with the children. Marcella organizes parties of poor people, gives lessons to two young girls without fortune who have been recommended to her by the doctor. Lucy is at the head of the household affairs; arranges and regulates everything with her graceful vivacity, and heartily enjoys this pleasant life. Anna and Picciola (according to the same chronicle) study a little and amuse themselves much. Gaston is becoming a man. Then we have details, incidents, stories about birds, flowers, lambs, children. Edouard, the editor, assures us that our presence alone is wanting to complete the charms of the South.
Gertrude has entered the Third Order of St. Francis. The days are not long enough for the duties she has created for herself; there