my letters reaches
you, may it be one that says how beneficial, how precious have these
torments been!

_October 1_ (from a note-book).

It follows from this that our suffering, every moment of it, should be
considered as the most marvellous source of feeling and of progress for
the conscience.

I now know into what domain my destiny leads me. No longer towards the
proud and illusory region of pure speculation, but in the way of all
little daily things--it is there that I must carry the service of an
ever-vigilant sensibility.

I see how easily an upright nature may dispense with the arts of
expression in order to be helpful in act and in influence. Precious
lesson, which will enable me, should I return, to suffer less if fate no
longer allows me to paint.

_October 9._

It seems that we have the order to attack. I do not want to risk this
great event without directing my thoughts to you in the few moments of
quiet that are left. . . . Everything here combines to maintain peace in
the heart: the beauty of the woods in which we live, the absence of
intellectual complications. . . . It is paradoxical, as you say, but the
finest moments of my moral life are those that have just gone by. . . .

* * * * *

Know that there will always be beauty on earth, and that man will never
have enough wickedness to suppress it. I have gathered enough of it to
store my life. May our destiny allow me time later to bring to fruit all
that I have gathered now. It is something that no one can snatch from
us, it is treasure of the soul which we have amassed.

_October 12._

Up till now your love and Providence do not forsake me. . . . We are
still in the magnificent devastated woods, in the midst of the finest
autumn. Nature brings many joys which dominate these horrors. Profound
and powerful hope, whatever suffering still awaits us.

_October 14._

It is true, dear mother, that some renunciation costs a great deal of
effort, but be sure that we both possess the necessary strength of soul
to live through these difficult hours without catching our breath in
painful longing at the idea of the return we both crave for.

The great thing is to know the value of the present moment and to make
it yield all that it has of good and beauty and edification. For the
rest, no one can guarantee the future, and it would be vain and futile
torment to live wondering what might happen to us. Don't you thi