August 13.
An unexpected visit; some Irish friends, the W——s. “We come to reconcile ourselves,” said Lady Helen gracefully to me. My mother-in-law gave them a most cordial reception, and they remained with us two days. You may imagine how happy I was. What details we had to communicate! Marie de S—— is at rest in God; no one had written to tell me. Beautiful and holy soul, remember us on high! The old men, almost centenarians, whom we left in our dear native place, are living yet, and death has stricken down another victim, in the brightness of youth and future prospects, George D——, only six days older than I am, and who died far from his home. He was brought back by his mourning family to the vault at V——, where his brother already reposed. He died a really holy death, … that is a consolation. They say that his father is distracted with grief. Dear Isa, whose aspirations tended towards the cloister, is giving up her
happiness to remain in the world, there to pray, suffer, and comfort her family in their sorrows. Gerty is grown even prettier than she was—a lily. How much I have been questioned about my Kate!
A letter to-day from Lizzy who lovingly reminds me of my promise. It will be for next spring, I think. I took our guests to the village, the presbytery, the church, the asylum, and the hospital; all of which are either founded or supported by the liberality of Mme. de T——. A carriage!…
It was Margaret, dear Kate; not my Margaret of former times, warmhearted and open, talkative and gay, but Margaret pale, suffering, and yet finding again a spark of joy as she pressed me in her arms. I am going to devote myself entirely to her; she must be cured, and if possible undeceived. Aid me with your prayers!
August 25.
This dear festival of St. Louis makes me want to write to you. It is five o’clock; René is sleeping soundly; I have slipped on a dressing-gown, and now, after a prayer, I come to you, my beloved Kate, my sister by nature and affection. A balmy breeze reaches me through the half-open window, the aërial concerts are beginning, the universal prayer ascends to God. My soul is glad, like nature. After many hesitations, much feeling my way, and on René’s advice, I addressed myself to Lord William himself.… It was a very delicate matter, and my timidity was up in arms; but Margaret’s life was in question. How I set about it I do not in the least know; my good angel was with me. The excellent lord thanked me almost with tears; the melancholy of our friend was too evident to him, and he had tried in
vain to break through the wall of ice that had grown up between them. All is now at an end; and we have convinced Margaret, who is reviving again to happiness. I know not what evil tongue had so poisoned the golden cup of “the prettiest woman in England.” The truth is that Lord William’s brother wanted to marry the young, portionless maiden of whom I spoke to you, whose views were above this world and fixed on heaven. Filial piety keeps her where she is, for she attends upon her grandfather—blind, like Homer and Milton, and like them a poet, says Lord William, who, being himself enthusiastic about poetry, was a frequent visitor to his relative, the aged bard, and thus unconsciously gave rise to the absurd story too easily believed by Margaret. How she regrets not having sooner sought into the truth of the matter! I am enchanted at this explanation, and also because my mother insists that our “dear English” shall not leave us for a month. We are planning excursions without end. Lord William and René are inseparable; my sisters dispute as to which shall have Margaret, who is more ravishingly beautiful than ever. Her fine voice rings majestically in the chapel; yesterday we went en masse to surprise Mme. de T—— because it was her fête. You cannot imagine the effect of our choirs. René, Adrien, Edouard, everybody, the English peer too, sang. Your Georgina played the organ—not without tears of emotion.… My mother said she was in heaven. All day long bouquets and hommages were arriving; these good Bretons are so grateful, so pious! To-morrow we go to Auray, next week to Solesmes, … a long way, … but I would willingly go to the world’s end.
Margaret almost worships the babies. Alix scarcely leaves her; Gaston has his private and his state visits to her. My Picciola is so intelligent that English has soon become easy to her. I converse with her in my mother’s tongue; we pray together. Am I not happy, dear Kate? Everything smiles upon me. Often I meditate upon the benefits which I have received from an all-merciful Providence, and especially upon my happiness in my friends. Apropos to this subject, I recollect a sad but charming remark of Louis Veuillot’s upon departures, those great sadnesses of life: “There are flowers of friendship that we have sown, and which spring up, but which we must abandon when their fragrance is sweetest!”… He goes on to speak of forgetfulness; the mourning wreath thrown by the oblivious world on the tomb of vanished friendships, and sorrowfully says, “All the flowers of human life are perishable!” Is it an illusion of my youth to believe that my affections are like the flowers of heaven, inaccessible to decay, strong against storms?… After the love of God, the first and greatest good, the surest element of even terrestrial happiness, I have friendship, and I rejoice in it with enchantment; then I have the love of my good René, so pure and Christian a love, which makes of our two souls one single being, in an indissoluble union; then reading, with its varied emotions, study, the faculties of enthusiasm, of admiration, of comprehension.… Oh! how fair is life. When I speak of friendship, it is the tender affection of my Kate that is especially in my mind—a tenderness to which I owe all that I am. Dearest and best beloved, I sometimes ask myself
how it is that you have been to me a sister so unique, and finding no other motive for this choice affection than your loving charity, I bless God, who has permitted this to be in his merciful designs, which I cannot sufficiently adore. When I make my thanksgiving after communion, I am fond of taking a general survey in my heart, so as to include in it names and memories, and after speaking to Jesus of all the souls in whom I am interested, I never fail to ask our rich and mighty Sovereign to bless, together with me, all who love or have ever loved me.…