| | | | | | | Often has it been remarked how the fresh spring of the French | Church coincided with that in our own, and how that decade | which began with 1830 was a period of stern trial, when the axe | was laid to the root of the tree; and when, if there was a great | outpouring of grace, there was also severe sifting, which all | could not withstand. | | The journals of Maruice and Eugenie de Guerin have already | shown the effect of this movement in one private family, where, | in the sister, every holy sentiment was quickened and | intensified; in the brother, the defection of Lamenais seemed for | a time to wrench away the very foundations of faith. We have | here another intimate and close portraiture of the workings of | religion upon individual minds; but there is this great difference | between the books, that whereas genius and reflection are the | prominent natural characteristics of the two Guerins, here we | have only action and feeling without more thought than is the | ordinary heritage of intelligent sensible people. | | It would, however, be doing the La Ferronnays family injustice | to treat their religion as merely the work of a revival. The father | and mother belonged to that grand old race of French noblesse, | whose faith as well as their loyalty was their support through the | trials of the Great Revolution. True it is that there was many a | profligate, many an unbeliever, among the fugitives from | France, and that the hospitality of the Germans who received the | emigrants was often shamefully requited; but there were also a | large number who suffered with cheerful patience and deep, | earnest religion, and more and more of these are coming to | light. In this book we have the genuine documents, journals and | letters, only pieced out here and there by Mrs. Augustus Craven, | one of the few surviving members of the family, and with the | stamp of authenticity in every line. The nucleus of the work, so | to speak, was the narrative, the composition of which was the | solace of her sister-in-law, Madame Albert de la Ferronays, in | the first months of her widowhood, and around this accumulated | the memorials of others of the family, and of the remaining | years of the young widow herself. As a picture of earthly love | lifted to heavenly love, and of a character ripened, through its | affections, for heaven, we think the history unrivalled. | | | The Comte de la Ferronnays was married to Mademoiselle de | Montsoreau at Klagenfurth, in Carinthia, in 1802, in the midst | of the troubles of emigration. On the return of the Bourbons to | France, he stood high in favour with Louis XVIII, and was | French Ambassador at Petersburg, and Minister of Foreign | Affairs under Charles X. Ten children were born to him, of | whom Charles, the eldest, was by many years the senior ~~ | three died, and there remained the dramatis | personae of the Recit ~~ Albert, | Fernand, Pauline (the narrator), Eugenie, Olga, and Albertine, | the latter being much younger than the rest. | | Ill health sent M. de la Ferronnays to Italy in 1829, and there it | was that the tidings of the Thirty Days reached the family. Their | principles were strongly loyal and legitimist, and their | adherence to their fallen sovereign was at the expense of much | worldly prosperity. They established themselves in a villa at | Castellamare, where the young people (including Charles's | wife) seem to have revelled in the beauty of the view outside, | while they treated the inconveniences within as the beginning of | such an exile of poverty and distress as their parents had | endured in the first Revolution. There was a great room in the | house entirely unfurnished, but with windows looking out on | the gulf and mountains, and there they used to bring their own | tables and chairs, and spend the morning in reading, writing, | laughing and talking. In the winter they were at Naples or its | neighbourhood, going a great deal into society, and leading a | very joyous and affectionate family life, in close intimacy with | many dear and valued friends. Eugenie's chief friend was Flavie | Lefebvre, afterwards Marquise de Raigecour, a name that | recalls the saintly Madame Elizabeth's dearest friend in the last | generation, as indeed the intimates of the family constantly | recall to us the tragedies of the past age. Mme. De Tourrels, the | Dauphin's governess and the last lady taken from Marie | Antoinette, was a kinswoman, and was Pauline's godmother, | and again and again do we meet with persons whose names | recall touching memories. | | The good mother of the family took the daughters into society | on principle; for, as she afterwards says in one of her very | sensible letters, she observed that the young married women, | who comported themselves like runaway horses, were chiefly | those who had been kept so strictly in the background in their | girlhood that they had gained no experience while yet under | guidance. Still there was something in the constant round of | pleasure ~~ something too in Napes itself, that with the more | thoughtful left a sense of unsatisfactoriness. Eugenie, who had | scarcely left childhood behind, was the merriest of all, but she | used afterwards to say, that she did not like to recollect those | days, and | | Albert, who was about one-and-twenty, bright, gentle, and | scrupulously religious, several times told Pauline in the course | of the winter, that it was not good for him to be always in a | place where serious life was impossible, and that some fine day | he should go and | in solitude. It was too easy at | Naples, he said, to forget everything, and in 1831 he joined a | like-minded elder friend, M. Rio, in a tour in Tuscany, in the | course of which he became acquainted with the Comte de | Montalembert, and formed a close friendship, which continued | to be the comfort of the rest of the family when Albert had been | taken from them. | | After this journey, in the January of 1832, the friends came to | Rome, and there it was that the romance of Albert's life began. | He went to call upon a lady whom his parents had known at | Petersburg, the Countess von Alopeus. She was a German by | birth, and her husband, a Swede, had been in the Russian | diplomatic service, where the La Ferronnays family had become | acquainted with her. Her husband was recently dead, and she | was travelling with her only daughter, her two sons being in the | Russian service. The daughter was born at Petersburg in 1808, | and had received the name of Alexandrine, in compliment to the | Emperor Alexander, her godfather. His participation in the | ceremony had caused her to be baptized by immersion | according to the Greek ritual, although her parents were both | Lutherans, and brought her up in their doctrine. Madame | d'Alopeus was a celebrated beauty with perfectly regular | features, and Alexandrine, though not judged by connoisseurs to | be equal to her in symmetry of feature, was exceedingly lovely, | and had a greater charm of expression. They were excessively | admired, and it used to be said that | no-one could say whether | the daughter were loved for the sake of the mother or the mother | for the sake of the daughter. The Countess was a gay woman, | delighting in all this admiration, and had brought up her | daughter to the constant round of Russian dissipation. | Numerous admirers had been at Alexandrine's feet ~~ 379, | according to a joke of Montalembert's ~~ but without gaining | her heart; and once, when her mother had tried to force her into | a marriage repugnant to her feelings, she had escaped it by an | appeal to the Emperor Nicholas, who had then said to her | mother, as he held Alexandrine's hand, | | | Alexandrine was already on terms of friendship with Pauline, | but Albert had never seen her till this memorable call, on the | 17th of January, 1832, when her beauty and sweetness captivated | him on the spot, and he went home to his friends in such a state | of admiration that they laughed at him. She was not at that | | time much struck with him. Her fond recollections, however, | are dated from that time; and in the long hours which ~~ five | years later ~~ she used to spend in dreaming over her desk, and | recording her cherished memories, with minuteness that even | Pauline sometimes thought excessive, she went back to the first | day when Albert inspired her with respect. | | She had gone, on the 5th of February, with a Protestant friend to | hear the nuns singing at the conventual church of Trinita del | Monte. Albert was there on his knees as a devout worshipper; | and as they came out of church together, she told him that had | she been alone, she would gladly have knelt too. | said he. | ~~ says the hitherto spoilt, flattered beauty, who | had no doubt thought herself saying something extremely | gracious and patronizing. | | A few days after, she continues, while walking in the gardens of | the Villa Pamfili, | It was then that his | depth and piety made Alexandrine attach herself to Albert; and | on his side, so much was her faith upon his mind, that in very | early morning, in a pilgrim's frock and bare-footed, he made the | pilgrimage of the Seven Basilica, to pray for her conversion, | and even to offer his own life as a sacrifice if at such a price it | might be vouchsafed. | | We pass rapidly over this portion of the journals; if there was | nothing beyond, we should have been inclined to call it | sentiment tinged with religion. The most notable point in it is | how Alexandrine, after all her campaigns in the most brilliant | society in the world, and after having supped full of adulation, | surrendered her whole heart to the mastery of the younger man, | of no high pretension to wealth or rank, who, while absolutely | fascinated by her charms, always kept his God in the first place, | and showed that he did so. In April, Mme. And Mlle. D'Alopeus | went to reside near Naples, and lived in close intercourse with | the rest of the La Ferronnays family, and there we find the | coupling of the most exalted self-restrained piety with all the | little extravagances of a lover. For instance, ~~ Alexandrine | went for the first time since her father's death to the opera, and | put on a white dress, in which she enjoyed showing herself to | Albert and Pauline. She returned home to Vomero at one o'clock | at night, little guessing that Albert followed her carriage all the | way up the steep road pushing the wheels behind at the worst | places, | | merely that he might have one glimpse of the flutter of her dress | ~~ unseen by her ~~ when she left the carriage in the court-yard. | | The mutual love was confessed, but there were many difficulties | in the way. Mme. d'Alopeus had engaged herself to a Russian | prince, named Paul Lapoukhyn, and thus could not free herself | from the respects due to the Czar. Indeed Alexandrine, being a | maid of honour to the Empress, needed his consent to her | marriage, and his dislike to French alliances was well known. | Besides, the lady had expected a far more brilliant worldly lot | for her beautiful daughter than a marriage with the younger son | of a family in the situation of the La Ferronnays, and though she | seems to have been delusively affectionate and caressing when | Albert was with her, no sooner was he absent than she and her | niece tried to persuade Alexandrine out of her attachment. | | M. de la Ferronnays too, though like all the family, charmed | with Alexandrine, and greatly flattered by the much-courted | lady's preference for Albert, had many doubts as to the prudence | of a marriage between his son and one bred up in the excess of | Russian luxury, and for many months the affair remained in | doubt. At last, in May, 1833, it became expedient for Mme. de | la Ferronnays to go on business to France, taking with her the | elder ones of the family, and leaving M. de la Ferronnays at | Rome, where the two youngest girls Olga and Albertine, were to | be placed at the convent of Trinita del Monte to prepare for | Olga's first communion. Albert was to have been of the party to | France, but at Civita Vecchia he told his mother that he was | feeling unwell, and would follow her by the Packet two days | later, when he had been bled. The next morning, however, he | was in a violent fever, and poor M. de la Ferronnays first | became aware of his dangerous state while from the window of | the room the steamer was still visible carrying away the mother | and sisters, who had gone on board the previous night. | | During the height of Albert's danger, Alexandrine arrived at | Rome with her mother, and had the comfort of almost daily | seeing the little girls in the convent and hearing their report of | their brother. It seems to have been what passed between him | and his father during his illness, and the extreme anxiety of | Alexandrine on the other hand, that made their parents at last | consent to their engagement; and though Madame d'Alopeus on | going to Germany had a short relapse into her original | ambitious views for her daughter, constancy at last prevailed, | and Albert and Alexandrine were married at Naples on the 17th | April, 1834, first in the chapel of the palazzo Acton, and | afterwards by the Protestant Minister, M, Valette. | | | A time of perfect happiness followed. A great villa had been | taken at Castellamare, Albert and Alexandrine lived on the | ground floor, Charles, his wife and child, above them, and the | main body of the family in the upper storey. Each set of | apartments had a balcony, communicating with the rest by | external staircases. Pauline was on the eve of marriage with Mr. | Craven, an English diplomate, and the life during that summer | seems to have been like paradise to the whole party. This is | Pauline's description: | ~~ | | | Other symptoms caused it to be thought that Castellamare did | not agree with Albert, and he was ordered to Sorrento, where | the brothers and sisters frequently visited them. There was as | yet no blight upon their joy, and they continued to enjoy their | exquisite life. Perhaps few persons were ever more capable of | full enjoyment than this family. They had all the happiness | | inspired by fervent piety; they were full of the delights of the | easy mirthful intercourse of a large and united family in the first | bloom of youth; they were cultivated and accomplished so as to | appreciate the exquisite scenes of nature and art, as well as the | historical associations of Italy; and there is also about the whole | of their writings and speeches an indescribable air of the very | highest breeding, as if with all their simplicity and humility they | were unconsciously the very | of society. | In one of his letters, Albert tells his sisters not to lose their | cosmopolitan grace and become exclusively French, English, | Italian, or anything else: and even in these black and white | pages, their facility of different languages and the different | nationalities of their friends makes us understand something of | what this charm may have been. Alexandrine, half German, half | Swede, a Russian subject, and yet her French as perfect as if it | had been natural to her, must have been a perfect specimen of | each country's best. Her manner was very lively, and her beauty | seems to have been simply and frankly the pride of all the | family ~~ and there are many notices of her dress on different | occasions ~~ but so fond and affectionate as to take away the | sense of frivolity. The length of time she took in dressing ~~ | partly owing to her short sight ~~ was always a matter of | innocent raillery, and it is worth recollecting for the sake of the | sequel. | | Pisa was recommended to Albert for the winter, and he took up | his abode there with his wife in apartments, where Alexandrine | showed that it had been doing her injustice to fear her expensive | tastes for she was a capital economist, with all her elegance. | Albert was better, and the only shade of trouble was at this time | the manner in which the difference in faith could not fail to be | felt between two people thus intimately connected. Alexandrine | had previously shown herself much inclined to the Roman | Catholic Church, but since her marriage her mother (now | Princess Lapoukhyn) had written to her that to hear of her | changing her faith would nail her (her mother) up in her coffin. | This had much startled Alexandrine, and besides, though when | among Protestants she was inclined to defend Catholicity, the | same impulse led her, when alone among Catholics, to stand up | for the doctrines she had been taught. On the whole, however, | her religious teaching and impressions seem to have been | exceedingly vague, and chiefly to have consisted in pious | sentiments affecting a mind of great natural sweetness and | purity, and thus she was exactly in the state to be completely | mastered by the strength of positive and systematic belief, | thoroughly acted on by those with whom her lot was cast. | | In October, they received a long visit from Montalembert, who | had begun apparently by slightly distrusting and regretting | | Albert's passion for the beautiful Swede, but on his arrival | yielded to her charm and became her fast friend for life. Here is | a description of their way of spending their time, taken from a | letter to Eugenie: | | | It is amusing to find Montalembert advising Alexandrine to | burn Father Clement ~~ a clever | English book, well known thirty years ago, which had been lent | her by some Protestant friends. She calls it | She is | quite right, the Protestants of the book are Presbyterians, and | Father Clement is by far the most beautiful character in it and | has the best of the argument. In Alexandrine's history it must | always be borne in mind that her original doctrine was | Lutheranism, and it was the Catholicity ~~ not so much of | Rome as of the Church Universal ~~ that was attracting her. She | had begun by feeling much drawn to the Greek Church, but the | bias was now given by her human affections and the examples | she saw. She continues: | | | We cannot help lingering on this innocent brightness, so well | crowning the young life of one to whom his mother could write | on his birthday, the 21st of January, 1835: | | Probably, however, there was | much truth in the self-dissection that we have from Albert's own | hand, in his journal, which was in the form of a letter, | addressed, his sister believes to the Abbe Martin de Nodier. It is | worth reading, because it so curiously shows the difference | between the self-reliant character fostered by our public school | education and the tender diffidence engendered by the careful | training and watching of foreign discipline. | | | | Such a nature as this seems hardly fit for the active battle of life. | There was no doubt much that was morbid in it, and depression | of spirits was the natural effect of illness; but Albert seems to | have had that remarkable power ~~ so inconceivable to the | world, which S. Paul mentions among the paradoxes of the | Christian life, of being "sorrowful yet always rejoicing." | | One more extract from his Pisa journal we must make to show | the sweet tenderness of his nature: | | | | On the whole, Albert's health had not become worse during the | winter, and it was decided that the summer should be spent at | Korsan, Prince Lapoukhyn's estate in the Ukraine. Sea voyages | were thought beneficial, and the journey to Odessa was to be | made by water. In March, therefore the journey was made to | Naples, where the whole family were again together, and where | the sisters for the last time saw Albert up and walking about. | | They embarked for Malta, and thence sailed again for Smyrna, | Constantinople and Odessa, enjoying to the utmost the lovely | scenery of the Greek waters and all its associations, and in | health for complete delight. They were met at Odessa by | Alexandrine's mother and her husband, and kept their quarantine | in a very agreeable fashion. They were permitted to see and talk | to their friends, as long as they did not touch them, and they had | a large and comfortable house, and an excellent cook whom | Prince Lapoukhyn had put into quarantine with them. In due | time they arrived at Korsan, in the midst of the Ukraine, one of | the splendid palaces of the Russian nobility full of copies of the | most perfect works of art, and with an orangery in the centre of | the house. | | The visit began there joyfully; but before it had lasted a | fortnight, the haemorrhage began to recur, and in a few days so | violent an attack came on that for a short time there was | imminent danger. On one of those days of anxiety Alexandrine, | opening her New Testament at hap-hazard, fell upon the words: | | It was her first realization of what was impending | over her. | | However, Albert regained strength and set out to return, | travelling through Austria. In the meantime M. de la Ferronnays | had purchased the Chateau de Boury, in Normandy, and gone to | reside there with the rest of the family. This had been a great | delight to Albert who had become weary of his wandering, | | exiled life, and longed to return to France. At Vienna, however, | he was sentenced by his physicians to spend the winter at | Venice, a mandate that he accepted with instinctive reluctance. | It was at Vienna that he and Alexandrine for the last time went | into society, and the last time that she appeared in full dress or | was at any public festival. | | When she arrived at Venice in October, she was still as it were | halting between two opinions: she was still swayed entirely by | human affections. She writes to Montalembert on the 23rd of | October: | ~~ | | | Here she tells at length the story of the Frisian chief ~~ whom | Pauline has already described as a great hero of hers ~~ who | refused Baptism rather than forsake his forefathers when they | were consigned to perdition by Christian teachers, not content to | leave them to stand or fall to their own Master. Her mind had | not yet learnt to contemplate the obligation of seeking God in | His highest Truth, and His appointed means of union with | Himself, and communication of His grace; as yet it was mere | pious sentiment to be derived from prayer, intellectual | exercises, or the exaltation of sacred music. She had attended no | Protestant worship since she was at Naples ~~ she delighted in | being present at those in Italian churches, and was ill with grief | at the separation when Albert communicated without her. At | this point she remained through the early part of the winter, but | in the beginning of March, Albert had terrible attack of | inflammation ~~ Fernand was with him, and the others were | sent for from Boury. He seemed so near death on the night of | the 6th March, that he asked for a confessor, and then it was that | Alexandrine cried in her anguish, | At the moment Albert seems to have been too ill. | or too much occupied with collecting his thoughts for | confession, | | to notice her words; but he began to rally almost immediately | after the priest left him, and a relic of S. Francois de Sales was | brought to him in the course of the day, to which his rapid | improvement was so much ascribed by all around him, that | Alexandrine became more entirely confirmed in her resolution. | Of course the joy her change gave to him was no small | assistance in his partial recovery, and she never hesitated for am | moment after the words had been spoken, regarding them as she | said as a "moment of inspiration," and she wrote both to her | mother and to Pauline Craven. M. and Mme. de la Ferronnays | and Eugenie were daily expected, and Albert, who knew by this | time that his state was hopeless, begged her to remain among | them, and not make her home with her own mother, saying, | however, | He was better by the time his parents | arrived, and Eugenie wrote to her elder sister in a spirit of much | thankfulness for both the joys that had met them on their arrival, | though with no delusive expectations: | ~~ < Vol. i. p. 375> | | By the 10th of April, Albert was well enough to be taken by easy | stages to Paris, where he arrived on the 13th of May, and was | placed under the care of Dr. Hahnemann, the inventor of | homeopathy, then an old man of eighty. He was so much struck | with Alexandrine that he took her hand and told her that in sixty | years of practice he had never seen so loving a wife. But this | loving wife had become so awake to the full blessings of the | Church, that she could write to Montalembert that she should be | happier as a widow, as a Catholic, than even with Albert if she | were to continue a Protestant. Looking over this letter in after | times, she wrote on the margin: | This would, indeed, be a perilous book to | one who did not feel that Alexandrine's gladness flowed from | her new sense of union with the Church; and that the Church is | as truly ours as it became hers when she quitted the religion in | which she had been, as it were, a mere unit, instead of a member | of a great body connected with one Head. | | On Trinity Sunday, the 29th of May, 1836, after attending mass | in church, she dressed herself in white, with a broad blue | | ribbon crossed on her breast, and then returned to her husband's | room, where the Abbe Martin de Noirlieu, his most confidential | friend and spiritual guide, said mass at a temporary altar, and | the received the abjuration which was made by Alexandrine on | her knees, and which was afterwards attested by her husband, | his parents, and his brother and sister. There was no question of | baptizing her conditionally, as the Roman Catholic Church | does respect the validity of Greek baptism. | It was striking, that on that night the Princes Lapoukhyn dreamt, | in Alexandrine's words, | | | There was a strange, deep, holy bliss and repose resting on them | all at this time. To some of them it was but the Delectable | Mountains; to Albert it was the Land of Beulah ~~ a time of | almost unbroken peace and joy. | | | | Still he was on some days so well that it was hoped that he | might go to the chapel of L'Enfant Jesus to share with his wife | in her first communion; but he was too much reduced to be able | to receive, fasting, in the forenoon, and on that account a | dispensation was obtained from the Archbishop of Paris for a | mass to be celebrated at midnight in his room, on Sunday, the | 3d of June, as the only hour when he could receive, fasting. | Otherwise, he could not have communicated except as a dying | man, and the service must have been unsuitable to so joyful an | occasion. The celebrating priest was the Abbe Gerbet, an | intimate friend, and one of those most closely connected with | the French revival, the author of "Rome Chretienne," and other | books much valued in the French Church. He died in 1859, | Bishop of Rossignan. At the time Albert was forced to be in his | bed. His parents, his sisters Eugenie and Olga, and his friend M. | de Montalembert, were the other communicants. Alexandrine | was in white, her bridal veil on her head, and the altar was | decked with the richest silks of her scarcely-used trousseau. She | knelt by her husband's side, holding his hand, but when the | moment for her reception came, he withdrew if from her saying | | | | A kind of trance of spiritual ecstasy seemed to enwrap | Alexandrine in these days. Her journals seem lifted above the | world. One of her wedding-presents had been a pearl necklace, | which, however her mother would not let her wear at her | marriage because of the German saying, | | and she now sold it and gave the price to the poor as a | thank-offering. She wrote these thoughts on it: ~~ | | | Her devotions absorbed her greatly, and perhaps the last feeling | of self-reproach in Albert's sensitive mind was for one moment's | complaint that she was less occupied with him than usual. At | the sight of her tears he begged her pardon most tenderly, and | afterwards said to Eugenie, | | | Once too he threw his arm round his wife's neck with the | irrepressible cry, | but in general his heart was | wholly fixed above, and his resignation perfect. He lived to see | Mrs. Craven again, and survived till the 29th of June. That night | Alexandrine was so physically exhausted with watching and | fatigue that she was perfectly bewildered and fancied herself | speaking to Fernand in a window, where | no-one was standing. | Eugenie made her lie down on her bed; and when Albert asked | for her she did not know where she was going, and twice passed | before his bed without seeing anything. He died at six o'clock in | the morning. His father alone spoke, | These were his broken words, | while the Abbe Martin knelt beside the bed, and the nursing | sister recited the Litany of the Dying. The Abbe Martin began | the words of the parting absolution: ere it was ended, Albert was | gone. | | And then follows the question ~~ What would become of these | highly-wrought feelings of Alexandrine? A large list might be | written of disappointments in widows. Many a woman has been | carried by a beloved husband into a higher world, and has | lapsed again, when the excitement was over, into a | commonplace, worldly frame of mind, and has forgotten her | first faith in more senses than one. Alexandrine's own mother | had after scarcely four years, returned to a gay life and married | again; and would she herself, only twenty-eight, beautiful, | admired, childless, and | | by nature lively, playful, and with the keenest enjoyment of all | the pleasures of the world, remain faithful to the tone of exalted | devotion to which she had been so recently introduced, and | remain true to the beautiful portrait that Eugenie copies from S. | Francois de Sales as descriptive of her in the early days of her | bereavement? | | | | This is the question answered by the second volume, to us the | more interesting of the two, since it not only completely | develops Alexandrine, but likewise brings into much fuller | relief the two sisters Eugenie and Olga, and the parents, who | hitherto were only a sort of chorus in the life-drama of the loves | of Albert and Alexandrine. | | The young widow was at first almost lifted above grief, but in a | few days came a terrible reaction of agonizing sorrow and | longing for death, when no-one | could afford her any comfort but | the Abbe Gerbet. At the end of a week she went with the others | to Boury, a dull and far from beautiful place in a flat country of | field, divided by monotonous poplars. It looked very dreary to | the sisters, who had been accustomed to the loveliness of Italy; | but it accorded with Alexandrine's state of mind, and she always | was much attached to the place. Eugenie above all devoted | herself to be her constant companion and comforter, and there | was a certain calmness in her life, which she was grieved to | break upon by the necessity of going to meet her mother at | Kreuznach. Her health was perfect; she speaks once in her | private journal of almost detesting her body as a prison whose | bars would not give way; but she suffered from a terrible | lassitude. | ~~ | | In September she returned to Boury, and there the Abbe Gerbet | met her. He was, | and she never ceased to consider his presence at | Boury at that time as one of the most thanksworthy blessings of | her life. On the 23rd of September Eugenie wrote to her sister ~~ | | | ~~ | | Mrs. Craven paid them a visit in the course of the next month, | and if our brief outline has taught our reads to love Alexandrine | as the perusal of the book has made us do, they will not grudge | reading the following picture, as a companion to her exquisite | moonlight of three years before: ~~ | | ~~ | | It was a peaceful life that the family were leading, under the | grey sky, Eugenie devoting herself to Alexandrine, and she | dwelling for ever on the papers and journals from whence she | compiled the narrative of the first volume, while Olga, now | fifteen, was growing up into an important member of the circle. | Eugenie was naturally of a blithe, mirthful temper, with extreme | ardour in whatever she was doing, whether in the way of | devotion or of common life, and her brother's death had infused | into her such a deep and fervent spirit of piety, that it seemed as | if only a directly religious consecration could satisfy her | aspirations. Olga ~~ tall, fair, slender, and graceful ~~ had a | graver and more thoughtful disposition by nature; and this was | enhanced by the | | constant inconveniences caused by her defective eyesight. Her | eyes had been weak ever since she was eight years old, and in | so peculiar a manner that she could not see in a full light. In a | shaded room, or out of doors after sunset, she could see as well | as other people, but on a bright day she was dazzled, and could | perceive nothing distinctly. She was eager in study, and in the | cultivation of her talents, but she was often checked in the midst | by incapacity of seeing, and reduced to sitting in a twilight | room, dreamily touching the keys of her piano. Sometimes, | when in a picture gallery, enjoying herself thoroughly, a ray of | sunshine upon the most noted of all would entirely hide it from | her. Sometimes when a walk was taken to see some charming | landscape, at the very moment when all emerged from the shady | path, and exclaimed at the glory of the scene, that very glory | eclipsed the whole to her. Sometimes at church she would close | her book, without showing either grief or impatience, and, as | she said, begin to think, because she could not read. These | constant privations, whenever they recurred, were quietly laid | by her as sacrifices before God, and she thus acquired a | peculiarly calm, sweet, meditative character, and a sort of | angelic gentleness. Once when she had been taken to witness | the grand procession of the Fete Dieu, at Naples, she saw | perfectly till the moment it passed, when the sun, flashing on the | gilded banners and on the soldiers' weapons, completely blinded | her for the time. After a silence she said, to her sister, | | ~~ | | | | Of all the family Mrs. Craven considers her father to have been | the most affected, and the most beneficially, by his son's death. | Faith had never been absent from his mind: he had always been | a good, loyal, upright man, and with a warmth of heart and | attractiveness of manner that made him greatly beloved; but | from this time his religious sentiments were quickened, and his | piety, humility, and charity became remarkable, and continually | grew and increased. said his | wife to Pauline during this visit, | | | Music was the only thing that still seemed to give Alexandrine | pleasure, and the Abbe Gerbet ministered to this enjoyment by | composing hymns to several of the tunes to which | | lighter songs had been sung by her and loved by Albert. One | composed by the Duke de Rohan, often sung in their days of | courtship, beginning ~~ | | | he now changed for one beginning more brightly than the | worldly lament ~~ | | | | To appreciate French poetry is always difficult, but the Abbe | Gerbet was a veritable poet soul, and his thoughts are always | exquisite. There is a charming morning hymn of his at page 48 | of vol. ii., which was sung at the family devotions in the chapel. | Eugenie, Olga, Alexandrine, and the brothers when at home, | formed a choir; an organ was purchased, and played by | Eugenie, and village girls were trained to assist with their | voices. The Christmas midnight mass, when Alexandrine and | Olga led the Adeste Fideles, the Adoremus and Magnificat, and | the choir boys wore white tunics and blue ribbons ~~ made out | of M. de la Ferronnays' | ~~ is | described by Eugenie with intense delight, and is only inferior | in beauty to that three years before, described with equal zest by | that other Eugenie, plodding through the frosty night to her | homely little church, and delighting in her bouquet of the fair | flowers of the hoar-frost. | | The young ladies began to collect classes of village girls for | religious instruction, for the Cure was very old and in feeble | health, and they found them very ignorant, one difficulty being | that of making them understand that Le | Saint-Esprit is not a Saint, like S. Peter or S. Paul. | Alexandrine also began to exert herself among the poor. Her | first endeavours are described by her father-in-law with a | certain tone of amusement, as if he had a shade of doubt of their | permanence in the Russian beauty: ~~ | | ~~ | | This was in a letter to Mrs. Craven, who was on her way to | Lisbon, where her husband had an appointment. The spirits of | youth were returning fast to Eugenie. | she says, | but after describing one | of her pranks, she adds ~~ | | | ~~ | | Eugenie had always seemed to her sister marked out by her | intensity of devotedness for a strictly religious life of conventual | character, but their mother's opinion was otherwise. She wrote | thus to her eldest daughter: ~~ | | | | This was written a few months after Albert's death, and we | cannot refrain from giving a little more from the papers of this | excellent woman. Deeply pious herself, she had a strong dislike | to all that was peculiar, exaggerated, narrow, or calculated to | attract notice; and when Eugenie, in the sweet, youthful severity | of her twenty years, talked of wishing to be plain instead of | beautiful, or showed an open disdain for the affairs of common | life, with a degree of scorn for those who attended to them, | Madame de la Ferronnays was distressed, tried to check her, and | then almost repented, and wrote thus to Mrs. Craven in the | beginning of 1837: ~~ | | | | | This wise and humble woman ~~ this model for the many | mothers perplexed by their by their daughters' aspirations ~~ | writes again in the July of the same year: | | ~~ | | This softening in Eugenie was a preparation for "the | circumstance" her mother "had thought possible." The intimate | friends of the family were the Marquis and Marquise de Mun. | The former had been one of the members of the numerous | emigrant household with which Madame de Tesse roamed | through Switzerland and Germany, and had been with Madame | de Montagu when she learnt the tidings of the martyrdom of her | sister, mother, and grandmother. In the spring of 1837 they lost | their only daugher, Antonine, a great friend of Eugenie's, and | the intensity of their sorrow occupied the La Ferronnays family | so completely, that when it became perceptible that nothing | would so console them as a marriage between their only son | Adrien and Eugenie de la Ferronnays, she would hardly have | dared to grieve them by a refusal. In November, 1837, | Alexandrine writes: ~~ | | | | | A few days later, the mother could write that all was arranged, | and her heart swam with gratitude, and Eugenie herself, in a few | hurried lines, says: ~~ | | ~~ | | | Poor Eugenie! she was more startled than happy, or perhaps she | was startled at her own happiness, and full of dread of the | future; but on her first visit to her future home at Lumigny, the | terrible void left by the daughter's death, and the affliction of the | parents, convinced her more and more that here was a vocation | for her there. | | Mr. Craven could not leave Lisbon, but his wife came alone to | attend the marriage, and after a terrible voyage, arrived just in | time. The wedding took place two days after, on one of the first | days of March, 1838, but the joyfulness of the day was much | discomposed by an accident that befell Madame de Mun on the | way to the chapel. Her dress caught in a doorway, her hands | were in a muff, which prevented her from catching her son's | arm, and she fell, cutting her forehead so that Eugenie, who ran | to assist her, had her bridal dress spotted with blood. Madame | de Mun would not permit the wedding to be delayed, and the | accident proved to be of no consequence, but it made a painful | impression. | | Alexandrine took a full share in these family joys, and showed | herself cheerful, active, and possessed of a playfulness that, as | Mrs. Craven says, with half an apology, rendered her a very | amusing person. But these festivals left her afterwards a prey to | the reaction of bitter regrets for her own past happiness. | Sometimes she almost seems to hug her grief, one would at first | | say morbidly, but that it gradually reveals itself that she felt this | sorrow was her preservation from becoming again absorbed in | the worldly pleasures for which her natural inclination was so | strong. Her love for Albert had given her mind a direction | towards Heaven, and she clung to it the more on that account. In | the summer she made another journey to meet her mother in | Germany, not without regret that she would thus be prevented | from spending the anniversary of her husband's death at his | tomb at Boury. How she did spend it must be told in the words | of her own letter to Eugenie: | | | | | The young priest died a few days after Alexandrine left Ischl. | She went thence to Vienna and Prague. Near Prague lay | Kirchberg, the residence of the Duke of Blacas, the same | ex-minister of Louis XVIII whose name is now become so | interesting to us for the sake of that exquisite collection of | antiques which have just been purchased from his heirs for the | British Museum. His duchess was a sister of Madame de la | Ferronnays, and Kirchberg was at this time giving shelter to the | exiled Royal Family of France. | | Eugenie writes to her sister: ~~ | | | ~~ | | | She says herself: ~~ | | | | A propos to her vanity, as she calls it, | the Princess Lapoukhyn was so urgent with Alexandrine to | make her mourning less deep, that she yielded, so far as to | change her black caps and collars for white ones. | Nor did Alexandrine even make | any further alteration in her costume, to which she clung, not | only as a memorial of her Albert, but as a preservative from the | allurements of the love of admiration, which was so natural to | her that once in the last year of her life, when she was told of | who had been struck with her | appearance, she cried | out, half playfully, indignantly, | | | She returned to France in the autumn, and found Eugenie | exceedingly happy in her new home at Lumigny, so happy that | she almost wondered at herself, and delighted in summing up in | her letters all the joys of her life, and these were increased on | the 25th of April, 1839, by the birth of a son. In the autumn there | was a general family assembly at Boury, including the Cravens, | who were on their way to reside at Brussels, and afterwards M. | and Madame de la Ferronnays, with their two youngest | daughters and Alexandrine, set out to spend the winter at | Naples, partly for the sake of revisiting scenes so much | endeared to them, partly because variety was thought good for | Olga, and because the ladies of the family had always thought | that M. de la Ferronnays suffered from the want of all natural | beauty in this dull Norman landscape. | | | Olga's journal here becomes the principal guide. Mrs. Craven | describes its very aspect as touching, the irregular writing so | recalling her infirmity, and there is about the expressions a | certain childish artlessness that we fear a translation can never | render. She was then just seventeen, and the scenery of Italy | charmed her intensely. At Naples, too, she met two Russian | playmates of her early childhood, and was so full of enjoyment | that she then seems to have had the one naughty fit (or what so | seemed to her) of her innocent life. She writes in her diary: ~~ | | | | | We have given this day's journal at length, though well aware | that some will deem it puerile or trifling, because we find in no | other means could the peculiar tender sweetness and confidence | of Olga's nature be shown. She wrote at the same time all that | was on her mind to Eugenie, and her answer to the confession of | the little fit of dissipation is well worth preserving: ~~ | | ~~ | | In April Madame de la Ferronnays and Olga went to spend a | couple of months with Madame de Blacas, who was then at | Goritz with the royal Family, then consisting of the Duke de | Bourdeaux, his sister, not yet married, and the Duke and | Duchess d'Angouleme. They were very gracious, but it seems to | have been horribly dull for poor little Olga, except when she | was with the young princess ~~ Mademoiselle, as she was | termed ~~ who was delighted with her young companion. We | cannot refrain from giving another extract from the naive | journal: ~~ | | | | | Poor little dear, the next day she writes: ~~ | | | | The real sorrows that were to cloud the poor child's life began to | gather. Eugenie's health was breaking, and after the birth of her | second son she was ordered to Italy, where she arrived in the | autumn of 1841, with her husband and her eldest child, and the | usual home party went to spend the winter at Rome, all except | Alexandrine, who was with her own relations, having lately lost | one of her brothers. | | Madame de la Ferronnays had for some time past been anxious | about her husband's health: occasional spasms had attacked him, | and though these were always relieved at once by bleeding, she | | much dreaded that there was some deep cause for them. When | therefore his death took place on the 14th of January, 1842, so | suddenly that Olga and Albertine were dressing for a ball at the | time, she could scarcely be said to be unprepared. Indeed in her | first letter to her eldest daughter, written only four days later, | she says, | She finishes this first letter, | | On | the following day she writes at length to her daughter the history | of the event, and of the many blessings that attended it. She | herself had been unwell and in bed for the previous week, and | had been a little surprised that he had not waited for her to join | him as usual in the course of devotions at the Seven Churches, | ending by communicating at S. Peter's. On the Sunday he dined | with the Princess Borghese, and there was much interested in | the account of a young Jew, at present a blasphemer, but for | whose conversion Count Theodore de Bussiere, an excellent | French gentleman, was very anxious. M. de la Ferronnays told | his wife about it on his return, speaking warmly of the good | done by M. de Bussiere, and adding sadly, "I do nothing." | | The next day he went to mass, and afterwards took a walk with | Eugenie and her husband; his wife, though quite well, reserving | herself to take the two girls to the ball for which they were | preparing, | After gathering flowers with them in complete | enjoyment of a lovely day, he left them and drove to Santa | Maria Maggiore, where as he told his wife on his return, he | went through, according to a daily custom of long standing, the | Office of Preparation for death, and then the "Remember," and | intercessory prayer, was repeated by him more than twenty | times, for, as he said "objects without number." Then after the | Benediction he returned home, delighted with his afternoon, | talked to his wife about it, sat down to his desk and wrote, then | dined, and afterwards had a game at play with his little | grandson. There was a charcoal brazier in the room, and he had | been warming his feet there, but probably the organic disease | was really the cause of the attack that came on. He left the | room, and presently his wife was summoned and was told he | had spasm. A surgeon was sent for; by the time he came he was | so much better that he did not bleed him; but just as he was | gone another attack came on. Madame de la Ferronnays hurried | to the stairs to have the surgeon recalled. When she returned | | the Abbe Gerbet (who happily was ten residing at Rome) was | repeating the Absolution of the dying. | | There was a glorious, radiant look of hope and joy; a murmured | farewell to wife and children; an embrace to the crucifix; a word | of thanks to Eugenie for raising his head and pillow; and then | the hand was motionless ~~ the pulse beat no more. Who could | have wished the last day of his life to be spent otherwise? | Madame de la Ferronnays knelt on by his side. When her son- | in-law came to her, hours after, she said, | And at day-break she went to church, and received | the Holy Communion they had intended to receive together (it | was the festival called Cathedra Sancti Petri), and doubtless | together they did receive it. Except when at church, she sat or | knelt continually beside the bed, only now and then yielding to | entreaties that she would lie down in Eugenie's room. Priests | came and went, and prayers were constantly round her; but she | was hardly conscious of aught but a constant effort to repeat that | she strove to unite her agony to that of our Lord and His blessed | Mother at the foot of the Cross. At last, the Abbe Gerbet roused | her by pulling her by the arm, saying, with much emotion, that | | | | Alphonso Ratisbonne, the Jew of whom M. de la Ferronnays | had taken such interest, though he had never seen him, a highly | educated man, son of a rich banker at Starsburg, had been | sauntering in the church of Sant' Andrea delle Fratte, where | preparations for the funeral were being made, when in the words | of the Abbe Gerbet's letter to Mrs. Craven, | | | We make no comment. Alphonso Ratisbonne lives a bright | light of the Church, and the history is testified to by the Abbe | Gerbert, Count Theodore de la Bussiere, and Count Theobald | Valsh; and these are not men whose witness should be lightly | regarded. Nor is this the place for the discussion. Our business | is with the La Ferronnays family, who as well may be believed, | were lifted up with exceeding thankfulness, such as bore them, | as it were, above their grief. Alexandrine, hurrying back to | them, wrote, | | Eugenie's spiritual nature rose at first, but at the | expense of her already shattered frame, and as her disease made | progress, her spirits sank into a state of extreme depression. | | The physicians ordered her to leave Rome. she went on the 2d | of April, leaving her little Robert with his grandmother. | Madame de Bussiere heard her whisper as the child was lifted | into the carriage for her last kiss, | but she seemed almost | cheerful, as if feeling that apart from her dear ones she could | better make the sacrifice. She was better at Naples, where she | met her early friend Mme. de Raigecour, who, herself in | delicate health, was on the way to the East with her husband. | They embarked together for Palermo, where they arrived on the | 6th, and still she seemed better, but at seven o'clock the next | morning her husband knocked at the Raigcours' bedroom door, | and they, hurrying to her bedside, found her expiring | | In her paper-case was found the | beginning of a letter to Mrs. Craven, "Dear Sister of my life," | ~~ no more, the last words she ever wrote. | | M. de Raigecour wrote the tidings to the Abbe Gerbet, who | conveyed them to the mother. | she says to Pauline. One hardly dares dwell on the | beauty of that mother's resignation and strength, while, as she | said, she saw her | and already for Olga she had great | anxieties, so severely had the sudden shock of her father's death | told upon the young girl. The sense of being her mother's | comfort, however, bore Olga up under this last stroke, and as | soon as the widowed son-in-law returned from Naples the | family returned to France, where Mrs. Craven came to meet | them. | | She had been very ill from the shock of Eugenie's death, but | almost the first day of her going out at Brussels she had the | great pleasure of meeting Alphonso Ratisbonne. He was about | to become a Jesuit, saying that to Him who had given him so | much he could not offer "less than all." He told Mrs. Craven that | he considered no earthly tie equal to that which bound him to | her father. | he said; | | | The conversation she had with the convert infinitely cheered the | daughter, and she felt strong enough for the sad meeting with | her mother and sisters. She took them back with her to Brussels, | and whilst she had the charge of them, Alexandrine, now | consoler and comforter-general, was needed by her own family. | Another stroke was near. The autumn was to be spent at a lonely | little sea-place called Blankenburg, as being quieter than | Brussels; and | | there, one stormy afternoon, when walking on the beach, some | inexpressible change was remarked by Pauline on Olga's face | that assured her that she would die. That very | night a pain in the side came on: they took her to Brussels for | advice, and there she lingered five months, suffering at first | especially from a nervous affection that made her ready to weep | at everything, until the time when her state was hopeless, when | her cheerfulness became unfailing. The spirit in which she | endured is shown by one trait. Two days before her death, when | broth was offered her, she said: | then | | | Her last words, as she lay with her arms crossed on her breast, | were, | Then a few | inarticulate words, among them the name of Eugenie; and even | when speech was over, the triumphant joy of her countenance | made her gasping breath seem like the panting of one close to | the goal of a long race. She died on the 10th of February. 1842, | thirteen months after her father, nine months after her sister. | Alexandrine had already returned, and with her mother's full | consent, resolved thenceforth to devote herself wholly to Mme. | de la Ferronnays, who had now only her little Albertine, still a | mere child, besides her married daughter, who of course could | not be always with her. We have scarcely dwelt upon | Alexandrine during the preceding two years, during which she | was first gathering up all the sacred treasures of memory in | Italy, and then ministering to all the afflicted round her ~~ all | the time working away at the Memoir of her married life, which | as before said, is the groundwork of the whole book ~~ a seven | year's task of love, to which she put her last touch on the very | day of Olga's death. It was just after Mrs. Craven was seized | with a fit of weeping, and was for some time nearly chocked | with tears. Presently Alexandrine gravely and gently said, | | Her tone and accent, her sister says, were | "indescribably impressive." Indeed, these seven years had been | a time of growth, and in it she attained to the development in | which we now see her as the blessing to her home, the active | devoted labourer among the poor, and as a being constantly | living as one above the world. Far from shrinking from the | house of mourning, the mother and daughter-in-law went from | Olga's death-bed to that of old M. de Mun, who had never really | recovered from the loss of his daughter, but was now dying in | so blessed a frame that, as he was listening to the chapter of | Thomas | | a Kempis on the joys of heaven, he said, | After spending some weeks with the widow | and her son, they returned to Boury, whence Mme. de la | Ferronnays writes one of her patient, beautiful letters: ~~ | | | | As Madame de la Ferronnays began, through her spirit of | resignation, to recover the tone of her mind, Alexandrine threw | | herself more and more into the world of devotion and became | more detached from ordinary life. Abbe Gerbet her first | confessor was still at Rome, and Pere Ravignan was now her | guide, and led her higher and higher; | Mrs. Craven says | An intense desire took | possession of her to devote herself entirely to God; she seemed | to fear allowing any earthy consideration to detain her, and for a | time entered the establishment called the Filles de Sion, founded | by Pere Alphonso Ratisbonne; but it did not answer; her spirit | was too strong and independent for monastic life, and by Pere | Ravignan's advice she gave it up, and as she said | much the | happier and more at peace for the experiment having been | made, and being, as it were, off her mind. There was plenty of | work for her to busy herself on in comparative independence of | action, though not isolation; she became a member of one of | those orders of S. Vincent de Paul that find and authorize work | for everyone in their degree, | and while living at home toiled | with all her heart for the poor. | | Once she had been a great letter-writer, and loved to sit | dreaming over her desk: now she was too busy to write often or | at length, though her notes gained in strength and spirit. In the | summer of 1845 she spent some time with Mrs.Craven at | Baden, writing beforehand to say she only wanted "a maid-servant's | corner;" but the fond sister had of course prepared a | room as pretty as she could make it, such as Alexandrine with | her elegant tastes would have once enjoyed. But now, while | coaxing her sister, and laughing at herself, she could not be | satisfied till all the ornaments were taken away, and the | furniture reduced to the merest necessaries ~~ it was a sort of | repugnance to luxury and a love of likeness to the poor, and in | the few weeks she spent at Baden she had found out so many | poor that she spent all the mornings, and part of many | afternoons, in attending on them. She read a good deal, but | solely religious books; on secular books, such as memoirs, | histories, or novels, such as had formerly interested her to an | unusual degree, she had no power of fixing her attention. | | | ~~ | | Can we add anything to this? Yet there are a few traits more that | must be given to show how the earthly love had raised the heart | to heavenly love, and how sufficient Heaven now was to the | once broken heart. | said Alexandrine, | | | Her cares for the poor occupied her more and more. She gave | away or sold for their benefit whatever was not absolutely | necessary to her, and once when Mrs. Craven chanced to open | her wardrobe, at Paris, she found nothing there but two black | gowns and a small stock of linen. One day, when she had been | caught in violent rain on one of the errands to the poor, which | she always made on foot in all weathers, she took refuge in a | house of the Sisters of Charity, where she was well known. One | of the sisters told her that she had a pressing request to make | her, on behalf of a poor woman who was in great need of a pair | of shoes. Alexandrine at once took out the money and presently | a pair of shoes appeared, which the good sister insisted she | should put on herself instead of the worn-out pair she had on. | Another time, a lady who had seen her in a church, went to the | sisters of the convent it belonged to, and said that she had seen a | lady, no doubt too poor to buy necessaries, and that she should | be glad to send her milk. She was much confused on hearing | that this was Madame Albert de la Ferronnays; but Alexandrine | herself was exceedingly amused at the blunder. This, however, | was not till privation had really reduced her. She became more | and more attached to her duties among the Parisian poor and | more unable to leave them when her mother-in-law went into | the country. For several years after Albert's death she had kept | on the lodgings in which he died, lending | | them to priests who had to be in Paris on business; but when | first her charities had begun to engross her, she gave this up as a | selfish expense; and she now decided on taking an apartment at | the convent of S. Thomas de Villeneuve. Mrs. Craven tried to | dissuade her, feeling sure that she would injure herself by going | without the comforts that she could not avoid in family life; but | her mind was not to be changed, for she could not bear to leave | her poor people for three months in the depth of winter. | | All she could she gave to them. She would not have the fire kept | up in her room when she was out, and she often returned | shivering. Her diet was very different from what she was used | to, and by the first week of 1848 she was seriously ill with | inflammation. Her mother-in-law and Albertine were sent for; | and, after an illness spent in full consciousness and perfect | peace and hope, she died on the 8th of February, 1848, having | survived Albert twelve years. Her last words were not as those | of one solely engrossed in the thought of reunion with him; they | were of the higher Love. | | The last remembrance Pauline had of her was standing in the | sunshine in the cemetery at Boury, with a spray of jessamine in | her hand, her face bright, her eyes on the sky, as she said: | | | | After such a conversation it was blessed to think of her as laid in | the other half of the double grave she had prepared long before | with a cross between, engraven with the words: ~~ | | | | Madame de la Ferronnays survived till the 15th of November of | the same year, when she died of a short illness in Mrs. Craven's | house at Baden. We feel that we have not done justice to the | family portraits here presented to us, drawn by their own hands. | Many beautiful portions have necessarily been passed over, | among them the letters from the Abbe Gerbet, and the Comte de | Montalembert, which form a marked feature in the book; but we | hope we have said enough to set this most attractive type of | excellence in some degree before our readers' eyes, and show | the gradual growth of the saint from the bright beauty. | | It is, perhaps, a shock to some readers to be so fully brought | | into a family interior. One almost feels oneself intruding: but it | is now long since these joys and sorrows have become the | treasures of memory, and Mrs. Craven, in compiling her | collection, has but acted in compliance with a wish long ago | expressed by M. de Montalembert, to make others know that a | pure and sanctified love, | It | is to the credit of the French that they have appreciated the | beauty at least of the delineation. Only a hundred copies were | printed in 1865 for private distribution; but an article in the | "Revue des Deux Mondes" made the characters of Eugenie, | Albert and Alexandrine known, and the volumes that lie before | us in the spring of 1867 are of the sixth edition.