'Twill be a pretty sight for anyone who likes society, but I refuse as often as possible. However, I cannot help going to M. de Neuville's, for he has been so gracious to Erembert. I have seen the Baroness de Vaux, Henry Vth's Joan of Arc, who, in 1830, asked an officer of the Royal Guard to rout Philip, herself and her sword at their head. She is a man-woman in figure and energy. Now she is devoted to God, visiting prisons and exhorting those who are condemned to death. With all this she has a charming simplicity. I am to make other acquaintances, whom I shall describe to you. All this does not prevent my thinking of Le Cayla very, very often, and longing impatiently for the month of May,--I shall go with Erembert at the beginning of Lent if I can. Mmes. de Maistre and de St. Marie beg to be remembered to you. "They think Caro charming, as fascinating as possible," said Henriette, and indeed she was radiant the evening they saw her. She is prettier than before her marriage, and she is an excellent little wife, as devoted to Maurice as he is to her. They are happy, and Maurice is most exemplary; a hundred times better than last year, as he says himself. His confidence in me is unchanged and we talk very intimately;--he longs to see you, and thinks very often of Mimi;--we shall all be glad to meet at Le Cayla. Saturday I shall think of you, Mimi, at St. Thomas Aquinas', where we are to hear l'Abbé Dupanloup, [Footnote 84] who is also to give the Lenten instructions. There is no lack of teaching in Paris, but the well taught are very rare;--the more one sees of the world, the more glaring appears the ignorance of essential things. Soeur d'Yversen comes now and then to see us; she has mentioned to me Mme. L----, who would like to know us, but we know, so many people already, that I've lost all desire for new acquaintances. Our whole time slips away in dressing and receiving or making visits, so that one can hardly read or work at all. The Lastics have been here, Mme. Resaudière, the Barrys, an English family who like Maurice very much, and an infinity of other people whom I do not know even by name. Then the De Maistres and the acquaintances they make for me;--you see I have more than I need.
[Footnote 84: Now Mgr. Dupanloup, Bishop of Orleans.]
Oh! how I shall rest at Le Cayla. I shall feel the contrast so much, passing from the whirlwind of Paris to the calm of the fields, from the rolling of carriages to the little rumble of carts, from Paris noises to the cackling of our hens;--it all seems to me very charming without thinking of you and Mimi;--how I long to kiss you! They treat me very well here, and I am spoiled by everybody. My health is good, so don't be anxious about me. How does Winter treat you in the new parlor? Better no doubt than it did in the hall. "Is Wolff banished from the parquet?" Maurice asks. Passing from parlor to kitchen, tell me how all our people are. I'm sorry about the partridge.
May 9th.--We heard M. de Ravignan Sunday at Notre Dame. It is curious to see this assemblage of men, a sea of people overflowing the immense cathedral to listen to one voice--but such a voice! From time to time some stricken soul, some young man in doubt or conviction, seeks the orator as a confessor. Then too they rush to see plays, and Mlle. Rachel draws at least as great a crowd to the theatre as M. de R. does to the cathedral. I'm not surprised at the enthusiasm of the Castrais about this young marvel. She is ugly, though, at least so I am told by those who have seen her off the stage. Alas! the profanity of my words in Lent!
TO H. DE GUÉRIN.
Paris; March and April, 1839.
This bit of a letter, will tell you, dear papa, that I am with my poor invalid friend, waiting for M. Dupanloup, and that catching sight of an ink-stand, I am going on with my writing at the expense of the sacristy. But I will put a sous in the box for my ink, and my paper too, as I mean to steal a sheet to go with these; if we are left alone long enough. Now and then a peaceable abbé or sacristan passes through, glancing at us, and looking rather astonished at my office improvised in the sacristy. But M. D.'s name protects us, and we need only mention him to get a safe-conduct. . . .
Never was there such a holy week--continual agitation and running about. Andillac is better than Paris for recollection; but God is everywhere and in all things, if we know how to find Him. Poor dear papa, I have prayed well for you in these beautiful monuments of Notre Dame, St. Roch, and others that we have visited. I thought of yon in the simple little chapel of Andillac. I suppose they used the new chapel for the tomb, or Paradise, as they call it here.
Was there ever such a piece of scribbling as this letter--begun, left, begun again, in so many places? Now I am at Maurice's, after sitting five hours for my portrait, which M. Angier kindly insists on painting for you, and for your sake, I have submitted. Dear papa, my painted self will go with Eran, who has had his likeness taken too, and, happier than I am. [{483}] is to see you and kiss you, and talk to you of Paris, and many, many other things.
My absence is to be prolonged more than I supposed, but how could I refuse these good friends a request they had such a right to ask? They will be grateful to you, I assure you.
I shall bring you the little book of poetry that you care for so much;--it is now in the hands of Count Xavier, which will be its greatest glory, I have been presented to this celebrated and charming man, who was very kind and gracious; he loves his cousin, and under her patronage I could not but be well received. We found him alone in his room, reading the office of Holy Week;--he must be religious, being a worthy brother of his Brother Joseph. Thus he is consoled for his great griefs, for the death of his three children at eighteen or twenty years of age.
The same evening, they took me to the great Valentino concert of eighty musicians. I had been there once before. There is much more to be seen here, but one might spend a thousand years in Paris, and leave many things unseen. I value more the knowledge of persons than of things.
I am uneasy about your health, however well Mimi may take care of you; be very careful of yourself.
Good-by, dear papa, good-by, dear Mimi. I have no time to write to you. Maurice sends to papa M. de Luzerne's reflections upon the Gospels. Good-by to all.
I send a waistcoat to Pierril and an apron to Jeanie; to you and all everything that can reach your hearts. Thank M. Angler for his kindness, when you write to Maurice. My portrait must be finished at Le Cayla, for I found it impossible to have a sitting to-day. I do not want to leave you, and yet good-by. I will write to you from Nevers. Erembert will be much pleased to see you again; I see already the happy day of arrival.
April 2d, in the evening.
And here we must leave Eugénie. Eight days later she resumed the journal at Nevers and wrote that wonderful eighth book, so pathetically expressive of the pain of waiting--fit prelude of the coming tragedy.
From Once a Week.
DAY-DREAMS
Call them not vain and false day-dreams we see
With spirit-vision of our quicker youth;
Thoughts wiser in the world's esteem may be
Less near the truth.
When against some hard creed of life we raise
Our single cry for what more pure we deem,
'Tis oft the working out in later days
Of some old dream!
Dream of a world more pure than that we find
Sad is the wak'ning, but not dull despair,
While we can feel that we may leave behind
One bright ray there.
Let us work up then to our young ideal,
Nor weep the present nor regret the past,
Till the soul, struggling 'twixt earth's false and real,
Reach heaven at last.