Letter from Mrs. Martin CF 109
To his brother Isidore Guérin and his sister-in-law
27 October 1873.
I received your letter this morning, which gave me great pleasure; I have already read it many times, because I always read your letters several times, I make the pleasure last as long as I can.
I see you are afraid of the future. It is certain that it is not superb and that, sooner or later, it will have to pass through a terrible ordeal. As for me, I didn't believe for a moment that Henry V could come now; I do not believe either in this unworthy calumny, that he would have compromised with his convictions to adopt the principles of the revolution; I won't believe him until he sends out a proclamation to his effect. But it would still be possible that the revolution would not break out immediately; well, no one knows how it will all unravel.
In the meantime, I'm very tormented, because I have six thousand francs' worth of orders to deliver in the first half of November, and that worries me a great deal. My husband does not want me to make these deliveries, according to the advice he has received from a serious gentleman, who foresees very serious events in the near future. This opinion must be the best, because it comes from someone who is not used to speaking out so categorically.
Finally, I will do what I can. I have to send the most urgent and I started today. At the grace of God; if we lose money, I'm sorry. I have already waited so long, according to a multitude of prognoses, which have all deceived me, that now I no longer believe in anything, except what I see. It's true that in this, I'm like everyone else: I see clearly when you've reached the end of the pack! I would not be angry, I admit it to you, that it was unwound...
I drove the children back to Le Mans on the 8th of this month. Léonie isn't there yet, I put it off until the first of the year. If I didn't have such a great desire for her to make her First Communion prepared by her aunt, she would never go to the Visitation, but I want to see if our sister will be able to change her, as I hope.
Celine does not go to class; I have it read myself. She is such a delicate child that I have to keep her close to me. I am very afraid that, in spite of all my care, I will not be able to raise him. She is almost always burning with fever; she is a little girl who turns absolutely like her little sister Hélène.
Therese is still doing well; she is very strong and tall; she is standing against the chairs, I believe she will walk in her year.
My husband went to Lourdes with the diocesan pilgrimage and brought us back two small stones detached from the rock, a few meters from the Grotto of the Apparition. There was a good woman banging with a hammer, but no matter how hard she banged, she couldn't get anywhere. Louis took it from him and deftly managed to get a piece; everyone surrounded it to anyone who got a fragment of it!
However, a guard threatened him with going to fetch the Superintendent, and when the latter arrived, the man said, pointing to Louis: "That's that big one, Mr. Superintendent." But we didn't tell him anything.
He didn't see any miracles. He was present when a paralyzed woman was plunged into the pool. A good old pilgrim was sitting on a bench near the fountain. Seeing that the patient was not recovering, he said naively: "Well,
hurry then, my good Blessed Virgin, come on, you won't end it! No matter how much he said, the woman was not healed.
When the pilgrims returned to Alençon, there was a huge crowd around the station, all along the road. I was unable to meet Louis, and fortunately! It was as if I suspected what was to come; the travelers wore all the insignia of the pilgrimage.
My husband came out first, with a little red cross; fastened on the chest; several shouted at him, others laughed; but that was nothing compared to what happened next. When we saw most of the pilgrims wearing rosaries around their necks, the beads of which were as big as chestnuts, we insulted them in every way; several were taken to the police station. However, they did not return in procession, the Town Hall had forbidden it.
My dear Isidore, you bid me farewell. This word does not please me; so you think we'll never see each other again? Me, I say goodbye to you, see you soon. I will send you a beautiful and good goose shortly.
