“My Dear Jerome,
“Imagine my astonishment yesterday when, on opening at random the
charming Racine you gave me, I found the four lines which are on
your little old Christmas card that I have kept in my Bible for the
last ten years.
‘Quel charme vainqueur du monde
Vers Dieu m’élève aujourd’hui?
Malheureux l’homme qui fonde
Sur les hommes son appui!’
“I had thought they came from a paraphrase of Corneille’s, and I
admit I didn’t think much of them. But as I went on reading the
fourth _Cantique Spirituel_, I came across some verses which are
so beautiful, that I cannot resist copying them. No doubt you know
them already, if I am to judge from the indiscreet initials which
you have put in the margin of the book.” (It is true that I had
taken the habit of sprinkling my books and Alissa’s with the first
letter of her name, opposite all the passages which I liked and
which I wanted her to know.) “Never mind! I write them out for my
own pleasure. I was a little vexed at first to see that you had
pointed out what I thought was a discovery of my own, but this
naughty feeling soon gave way to my pleasure in thinking that you
like them as much as I do. As I copy I feel as if I were reading
them over with you.
De la sagesse immortelle
La voix tonne et nous instruit.
“Enfants des hommes, dit-elle,
De vos soins quel est le fruit?
Par quelle erreur, âmes vaines,
Du plus pur sang de vos veines
Achetez-vous si souvent,
Non un pain qui vous repaisse,
Mais une ombre qui vous laisse
Plus affamés que devant?
Le pain que je vous propose
Sert aux anges d’aliment:
Dieu lui-même le compose
De la fleur de son froment,
C’est ce pain si délectable
Que ne sert point à sa table
Le monde que vous suivez.
Je l’offre à qui veut me suivre.
Approchez. Voulez-vous vivre?
Prenez, mangez et vivez.”
* * *
L’âme heureusement captive
Sous ton joug trouve la paix,
Et s’abreuve d’une eau vive
Que ne s’épuise jamais.
Chacan peut boire en cette onde:
Elle invite tout le monde;
Mais nous courons follement
Chercher des sources bourbeuses
Ou des citernes trompeuses
D’ou l’eau fuit à tout moment.
“How beautiful! Jerome, how beautiful! Do you really think it as
beautiful as I do? A little note in my edition says that Mme. de
Maintenon, when she heard Mlle. d’Aumale sing this hymn, seemed
struck with admiration, ‘dropped a few tears,’ and made her repeat
a part of the piece over again. I know it by heart now, and never
weary of saying it to myself. My only regret is that I haven’t
heard you read it.
* * * * *
“The news from our travellers continues to be very good. You know
already how much Juliette enjoyed Bayonne and Biarritz in spite of
the fearful heat. Since then they have visited Fontarrabia, stayed
at Burgos and crossed the Pyrenees twice. Now she writes me an
enthusiastic letter from Montserrat. They think of spending ten
days longer at Barcelona before they return to Nîmes, where Edouard
wants to be back before September, so as to be able to look after
the vintage.
“Father and I have been settled at Fongueusemare for a week now,
and we expect Miss Ashburton and Robert in four days’ time. You
know the poor boy has failed in his examination; not that it was
difficult, but the examiner asked him such peculiar questions that
it confused him; I cannot believe, after what you told me about
his keenness for work, that he hadn’t prepared properly, but this
examiner, it appears, takes a pleasure in putting people out.
“As for your successes, my dear, I can hardly say that I
congratulate you. I have so much confidence in you, Jerome!
Whenever I think of you, my heart fills with hope. Will you be able
to begin the work you speak about at once?
* * * * *
“Nothing is changed here in the garden; but the house seems very
empty! You will have understood--won’t you?--why I asked you not to
come this year. I feel it is better so; I tell myself so every day,
for it is hard to stay so long without seeing you. Sometimes I look
for you involuntarily; I stop in the middle of what I am reading, I
turn my head quickly ... it seems as though you were there!
* * * * *
“I continue my letter. It is night; everybody is asleep; I am
sitting up late writing to you, before the open window. The garden
is full of scents; the air is warm. Do you remember when we were
children, whenever we saw or heard anything very beautiful, we
used to say to ourselves, ‘Thanks, Lord, for having created it.’
To-night I said to myself with my whole soul, ‘Thanks, Lord, for
having made the night so beautiful!’ And suddenly I wanted you
there--I felt you there, close to me--with such violence that
perhaps you felt it.
“Yes, you were right in your letter when you said, ‘In generous
hearts admiration is lost in gratitude.’ How many other things I
should like to write to you. I think of the radiant land Juliette
speaks of. I think of other lands, vaster, more radiant still,
more desert-like. A _strange_ conviction dwells in me that one
day--but I cannot tell how--you and I shall see together some great
mysterious land--but ah! I cannot tell which ...”
No doubt you can easily imagine with what transports of joy I read
this letter, with what sobs of love! Other letters followed. Alissa,
it is true, thanked me for not coming to Fongueusemare; it is true she
begged me not to try and see her again this year, but she regretted
my absence, she wanted me; from page to page there sounded the same
appeal. Where did I find strength to resist it? In Abel’s advice,
no doubt, and in the fear of suddenly ruining my joy, and in an
instinctive stiffening of my will against the inclinations of my heart.