Effusion d’un cœur jaloux,
Je suis la veuve délaissée
Emporte-moi vers mon Epoux.’”[207]
Dear Kate, do you not doubly love our Hélène?
October 21.
Do you know the Meditations on the Way of the Cross, by the Abbé Perreyre? I find in this book a comprehension of suffering which can only belong to a superior mind, and one which has drunk from one of the bitterest cups of life. There are passages in it which seemed to thrill me, especially this thought, that “trial breaks souls and forces them to shed around them floods of love.” I like to pass before your kind eyes all that I read and admire. René yesterday quoted me a beautiful thought of Mgr. of Orleans on La Moricière: “A man is a prism; the rays of God pass through him; it is not he who is beautiful—it is the rays, it is God; but without him we should not see them.” Read on Sunday, by the same genius, the postscript to the
letter of M. Rattazzi; it is admirable for its power, expression, and lofty feeling. The Archbishop of Rennes has written a few lines to Mgr. Dupanloup full of warmth and energy. It is said that our troops are going to Rome. God grant that it may be so, for his own glory, for the safety of Pius IX., and for the honor of our poor France! Oh! must it be written on the page of our history that the eldest daughter of the church has forfeited her mission, and that she has failed to say to the abettors of the revolution, “You strike not my father with your sacrilegious hand without first passing over my body”? I am indignant and amazed at beholding the Catholic world remain as if stupefied when it ought to rise as one man to defend the holy Pontiff. René and his brothers have all served under the Breton hero in the cause of Pius IX. Adrien’s two sons are gone to fight under his banner; they set out of their own accord, after receiving the blessing of their father, mother, and grandmother. Pray for them, my Kate! Gertrude is on her Calvary. Our Brittany will be worthily represented at Rome. Sursum corda! God keep you, my well-beloved!
October 31.
Splendid weather! the air full of warm, poetic odors. I have been rather unwell, but am better again; do not be uneasy about me, dearest. Good news from every quarter, but sadness at home, for Gertrude and Adrien are leaving us, having heard that one of their sons is ill at Rome; so they hasten thither with all speed. I should like to accompany them, it is so delightful to travel. Mgr. of Orleans has written to his clergy, requesting prayers for the Pope and the army of Italy. There
is just now a certain movement of religious enthusiasm in France. Numerous volunteers are enrolling themselves in the pontifical army, and there are among them those who leave their children, their young wife, or their betrothed; and the bishop says that if there are at the present time mothers weeping over a son who has died a martyr in the holiest of causes, there are those who weep still more bitterly because they have no son.… Is not this the highest expression of Christian patriotism? Rome is the fatherland of the Catholic universe; happy indeed are her defenders!