M. l'Abbé Massol welcomed us cordially, and conversed with me about a project which he had had in view for some time of rebuilding the church of Andillac with the offerings of the admirers of Eugénie de Guérin. The encouraging sympathy which he had received led him to hope that he would very soon be able to accomplish his purpose, which will be the honor of the tomb of this pious young girl, and her aureola by choice: this was indeed the only glory that she desired.[146]
The actual church of Andillac is really nothing more than a ruin. Its tottering belfry, roof falling in from age, cracked and crumbling walls, present the picture of desolation. It is necessary to descend several steps in order to enter this other Bethlehem, whose sombre, decayed, and humid aspect sends a chill to the heart. Nothing less than the most ardent faith, or Eugénie's happy imagination, could enable a person to breathe in what seems more like a charnel-house than a church, or cause a ray of brightness and poetry to enter there.
I whispered to Mlle. Guérin that I was going to say Mass for the illustrious dead of her family; and I had the happiness of giving the holy communion to the sister of Eugénie. A quarter of an hour passed in thanksgiving on the prie-dieu where she used to kneel left an impression never to be forgotten; angel, she conversed here with the angels, with the Spouse of virgins; she unfolded here to the wind of eternity those wings of light which detached her every day more and more from the earth, and which have finally transported her to the bosom of our Lord.
On leaving the church, Mlle. de Guérin silently opened the gate of the cemetery. I was face to face with the beloved graves. The morning sunlight flooded this garden of the dead, as if to remind me of that other invisible light which illumines the other shore of life that never fades. A shaft of white marble, the only monument in the cemetery, marks the grave of Maurice. We read distinctly the mournful date, July 19, 1839. At the side to the right is a simple wooden cross, one of its arms supporting a crown of immortelles, with this inscription enclosed in a medallion: Eugénie de Guérin, May 31, 1848. In the rear were two iron crosses, one of them marking the grave of M. Joseph de Guérin, Eugénie's father, and the other that of Erembert. They died a year apart, 1850 and 1851.
I remained a long time on my knees beside the grave of Eugénie, in the same place where, overwhelmed by a nameless grief, she wept torrents of tears, where she probed that terrible mystery of death, fathomless as her sorrow; and whence she rose at last, crushed for ever, but resigned, with this sublime cry of a Christian, "Let us throw our hearts into eternity!" She sleeps now by the side of that dear Maurice for whom she often wept, until the day when they will rise together never more to be separated.
Before leaving, Mlle. de Guérin gathered a bouquet of roses and immortelles from her sister's grave, placed it in my hands, and went out, without uttering a word.
Adieu, sweet and blessed Eugénie! The glory which you did not seek has sought you, but the aureola which shines over your mausoleum need not alarm your modesty or your humility. It is pure as your soul, sweet as your nature, religious as your thoughts, benevolent as your life. Already it has illumined more than one soul, and strengthened more than one heart. It will do more: it will rebuild this temple, whence will arise in your honor the hymn of gratitude. Pertransiit benefaciendo!
On my return to Cayla, I thanked my kind hosts for their gracious hospitality, commended myself to the prayers of Marie, the holy, and resumed the route to Toulouse.
I have brought you several souvenirs from Cayla, some drawings, one of Eugénie's autographs, a few flowers, and a bunch of immortelles, which will be relics for you.
To M. l'Abbé L., Quebec.