We took a long excursion yesterday
into the open country, among the wheat; the rustling of the ears of corn, the charm of the sunny solitude, the verdure with its soft lights and shadows, all the renewal of the spring, the beauty of the landscape, which showed in the far distance the fine towers of the cathedral—all this smiled upon us; and yet sadly, like an adieu, we shall return, we shall look again next year upon this same picture, but without Hélène.… Why is she so engaging, so sympathetic?
Letter from Margaret, who will be at Paris in June. What joy, dear Kate! It seems to me that our friend is more tranquil; she describes like a poet her enthusiasm for Italy and for the Pope. At Florence she met with our poor mistress Annah, who had some trouble to recognize in this brilliant lady the pale little girl of former times. Annah is giving English lessons. Lord William, seeing Margaret’s affectionate demonstrations, proposed to her to secure the independence of the aged mistress, which he has done, to the great satisfaction of the two persons interested. I like that, and am convinced that Margaret deceives herself.
Another happiness, darling Kate: here is your letter, in the joyful hands of Picciola, who recognizes your handwriting. Five days without saying a word to you! René sends you quite a volume. Love always your Georgina.
May 26.
Was present at the ordination. What an imposing ceremony! I had never seen one, and I followed all the details with the greatest interest. Sixty young men giving themselves to God, devoting themselves to a life of sacrifice! I prayed for and envied them: how much good will they not be able to
do! What life is so full as that of a holy priest? That which most moved me was the moment when priests, deacons, and subdeacons fell prostrate; then the imposition of hands, the Mass said by all these voices, which must have trembled with emotion and with happiness, the kiss of peace, the communion, and, lastly, the Te Deum, that heavenly song. Oh! that all these souls to-day consecrated to the Lord may one day sing the Sanctus and Hosanna before the throne of the Lamb.
On arriving yesterday at Sainte Croix (the weather was splendid) I saw myriads of swallows joyously flying about and warbling among the towers. René began to hum, “Oh! that I had wings, to fly away to God.” You dear swallows who have made your nests on the roof of the temple of the Lord, in the bell-turrets, and among the towers; ye swallows, my sisters, as said the Seraph of Assisi, you who fly so high, have you seen heaven? You who in sweet warblings sing the praises of the Eternal, have you touched with your wing the portals of the celestial Eden? Sing, and cease not, O gentle swallows! who know not what it is to offend God.
Gertrude has confided to me that for some time past she had divined Hélène, and, as she treats me entirely as a sister, she has given me the journal to read which she wrote whilst her daughter was at the convent. Observe this passage: “My beloved girl is seventeen years old to-day; her father and I have duly observed this anniversary as a festival. Poor dear child! What will be thy will for her, my God? One of these pure creatures, seraphs left upon earth to sanctify it, whose life is spent beneath thy watchful eye, in the shade of the sanctuary?
… O my God! Once I thought not that it would be possible for me to live far from her, no more to rest my gaze on her fresh countenance, so bright and open. Thou hadst, O Lord! united us so closely that it seemed as if my soul had passed into hers. Sweet angel, return to spread your white wings over the maternal nest! Oh! I fear lest you should be the first of all to leave it; but if you leave us for God, may you be blessed, my well-beloved!”