A Sister's Story
, was translated by Emily Bowles and published in 1868. The book is an account of several siblings, through letters and recollections woven into a narrative, by Pauline Craven (April 12,1808 to April 1, 1891).
The extract we enjoy first is a story told by Pauline's sister-in-law Alexandrine. But the stage must be set briefly. Pauline was born in London because her family had fled the French revolution. By 1819 she was in St. Petersburg as her father, Le Comte de La Ferronnays, was the French Ambassador to the Russian court. She continued a glittering life after her marriage to Augustus Craven, whom she met when he was an attache with the British legation at Naples. But the interesting and appealing aspect of Pauline Craven's life was her spiritual sensibility, an inner life influenced greatly I suspect, by her brother Albert, Alexandrine's husband. That sensibility is a liberal French Catholicism of the 19th century, an attitude impacted by the struggle against republican anticlericalism.
Sunday, April 5 th.[1835, Alexandrine's words] ... I breakfasted with Pauline, and the conversation turned on the difference between various kinds of affection. It soon became an argument. Albert called for me just when the dispute was at its height, and carried me off to the Villa Reale, where we took a little walk. He scolded me, said that he hated disputes, and in everything loved peace. In the evening we had music and company. I liked then to be well-dressed, and to move about from one corner to another of that great drawing-room of the Palazzo Gallo. Albert, on the contrary, used to go to his room when people came ...
"Monday, April 6th.—I was with Pauline at a party at the Duchess of San Teodoro's, and that was the last time we went out together. This made Pauline always remember the dress I wore that night; she has often reminded me of it. I had on a black velvet gown, and in my hair, round my neck, and on the front of my dress, pink rubies set in black enamel. I am not sure which day it was, but about that time Albert complained once quite seriously, that I had left him for five hours. I had been out on some necessary business, and I exclaimed,...' How could I help it? Was it to amuse myself?' And provoked at Albert's injustice, I scratched his finger, as a little cat might have done. He laughed, and looked at his finger in such a funny manner, that I saw the quarrel was made up. But I was very much ashamed of my bad temper, and I went and accused myself of it to Pauline, who burst out laughing.
I cannot resist quoting Pauline's response to a popular attitude about religion and religious women. The following is from her prefatory comments, to A Sister's Story.
It will please me, I own, to extend the sweet influence of their examples and of their memory beyond their domestic circle, and to make many acquainted with them who may have met them in the world without knowing, though it may be, not without noticing them. If any of these should be ignorant of the love of God, this work may perhaps inspire them with a desire to learn more of the Divine principle which pervades every line of it, and mixes with every thought. I cannot but hope that they would find in it some interest, and would not close the book without questioning whether it can be really true that the pious habits of a Catholic life " impede the development of the mind, enslave the soul,"or harden the heart; and if it is not, on the contrary, evident that those beings so devoted to God, would have lost, even in the eyes of men, their greatest charm, had they lacked that piety which was the mainspring of their lives. ...
I should be glad, indeed, if certain writers of our own day, who draw such repulsive pictures of women, would study this record in which all the feelings of youth are faithfully portrayed. Could they assert, in the face of it, that a heart, habitually under the influence of the Divine Presence, must necessarily be wanting in tenderness towards relatives and friends, or lack enthusiasm for whatever is beautiful in nature and art ? Could they maintain that the habitual remembrance of the world to come, must fill the mind with sadness and with affected solemnity, or suppose that the subjects of this memoir, whose manners and conversation delighted even strangers, were ever considered stiff and morose because of their piety ?, It is precisely because they lived in the world and followed its ordinary customs, and were not recluses and inmates of the cloister, that I hope the history of their lives will prove useful to many who turn away dismayed and discouraged from examples of more austere sanctity.
, was translated by Emily Bowles and published in 1868. The book is an account of several siblings, through letters and recollections woven into a narrative, by Pauline Craven (April 12,1808 to April 1, 1891).The extract we enjoy first is a story told by Pauline's sister-in-law Alexandrine. But the stage must be set briefly. Pauline was born in London because her family had fled the French revolution. By 1819 she was in St. Petersburg as her father, Le Comte de La Ferronnays, was the French Ambassador to the Russian court. She continued a glittering life after her marriage to Augustus Craven, whom she met when he was an attache with the British legation at Naples. But the interesting and appealing aspect of Pauline Craven's life was her spiritual sensibility, an inner life influenced greatly I suspect, by her brother Albert, Alexandrine's husband. That sensibility is a liberal French Catholicism of the 19th century, an attitude impacted by the struggle against republican anticlericalism.
Sunday, April 5 th.[1835, Alexandrine's words] ... I breakfasted with Pauline, and the conversation turned on the difference between various kinds of affection. It soon became an argument. Albert called for me just when the dispute was at its height, and carried me off to the Villa Reale, where we took a little walk. He scolded me, said that he hated disputes, and in everything loved peace. In the evening we had music and company. I liked then to be well-dressed, and to move about from one corner to another of that great drawing-room of the Palazzo Gallo. Albert, on the contrary, used to go to his room when people came ...
"Monday, April 6th.—I was with Pauline at a party at the Duchess of San Teodoro's, and that was the last time we went out together. This made Pauline always remember the dress I wore that night; she has often reminded me of it. I had on a black velvet gown, and in my hair, round my neck, and on the front of my dress, pink rubies set in black enamel. I am not sure which day it was, but about that time Albert complained once quite seriously, that I had left him for five hours. I had been out on some necessary business, and I exclaimed,...' How could I help it? Was it to amuse myself?' And provoked at Albert's injustice, I scratched his finger, as a little cat might have done. He laughed, and looked at his finger in such a funny manner, that I saw the quarrel was made up. But I was very much ashamed of my bad temper, and I went and accused myself of it to Pauline, who burst out laughing.
I cannot resist quoting Pauline's response to a popular attitude about religion and religious women. The following is from her prefatory comments, to A Sister's Story.
It will please me, I own, to extend the sweet influence of their examples and of their memory beyond their domestic circle, and to make many acquainted with them who may have met them in the world without knowing, though it may be, not without noticing them. If any of these should be ignorant of the love of God, this work may perhaps inspire them with a desire to learn more of the Divine principle which pervades every line of it, and mixes with every thought. I cannot but hope that they would find in it some interest, and would not close the book without questioning whether it can be really true that the pious habits of a Catholic life " impede the development of the mind, enslave the soul,"or harden the heart; and if it is not, on the contrary, evident that those beings so devoted to God, would have lost, even in the eyes of men, their greatest charm, had they lacked that piety which was the mainspring of their lives. ...
I should be glad, indeed, if certain writers of our own day, who draw such repulsive pictures of women, would study this record in which all the feelings of youth are faithfully portrayed. Could they assert, in the face of it, that a heart, habitually under the influence of the Divine Presence, must necessarily be wanting in tenderness towards relatives and friends, or lack enthusiasm for whatever is beautiful in nature and art ? Could they maintain that the habitual remembrance of the world to come, must fill the mind with sadness and with affected solemnity, or suppose that the subjects of this memoir, whose manners and conversation delighted even strangers, were ever considered stiff and morose because of their piety ?, It is precisely because they lived in the world and followed its ordinary customs, and were not recluses and inmates of the cloister, that I hope the history of their lives will prove useful to many who turn away dismayed and discouraged from examples of more austere sanctity.
Pauline Craven in this book illustrates the meaning of vanity as the sentiment of someone "who cannot see a cat without thinking what that cat was thinking of me." It seems to me that everything is a little off in these excerpts, but this may reflect a distance of over a century, and a lack of historical imagination.
No comments:
Post a Comment