n the flow of his diction by those
oratorical precautions which are so distressingly hampering to an
impetuous genius like his. He celebrated a victory of grace, and that in
accents the most touching and expressions the most powerful. It was the
hymn of an illustrious conversion, chanted by the noblest mortal voice
ever heard.

Bossuet relates with inimitable art the Princess's two dreams; the
simple anecdotes are dramatised, poetised--one might almost say
sanctified--in proceeding from his lips. But, in short, whether Anne de
Gonzagua saw or thought that she saw that mystical mendicant, and those
symbolical animals, in her slumbers, the truth is that in soul she was
touched, agitated, shaken, overcome. An ardent faith, an invincible
longing for prayer and penitence, had obtained the mastery over that
rebellious soul. She felt once more the enthusiasm of her early youth;
she felt beating once more, at the Divine Master's name, that heart
which had too often throbbed for His creatures only. Her scepticism
vanished; she had no other ambition left save that of gaining heaven,
and holy tears were seen to dim those eyes wherein it once seemed as
though the source of such emotion was dried up for ever. It was done. A
great thing was accomplished, whatsoever had been the cause. A soul
which incredulity had frozen into apathy became fervent before its
Creator. Anne de Gonzagua did not fear to let her repentance be seen;
she desired that the publicity of her penitence might obliterate, if it
were possible, the scandal of her past life. Her conscience became
tender, even scrupulous. "_Plus elle etait clairvoyante,_" says Bossuet;
"_plus elle etait tourmentee._" Henceforward she devoted herself wholly
to charity and prayer. She became as humble as she had hitherto been
proud. She cherished a life of seclusion as much as she had once loved
mundane notoriety. She became as sincerely a Christian as she had
formerly been an infidel. During the lapse of twelve years this
startling confession of faith did not belie itself for a single day.
"Everything became poor about her house and person," says her
illustrious panegyrist. "She saw with sensible delight the relics of the
pomps of this world disappear one after another, and alms-giving taught
her to retrench daily something fresh.... A person so delicate and
sensible had suffered for twelve entire years, and almost without an
interval, either the most vivid anguish or languor exhausting