To MADAME TH: BLANC-BENTZON
Maiano, near Florence,
June 20, 1903.
MY DEAR MADAME BLANC,
The first copy of this little book was, of course, to have been forGabrielle Delzant. I am fulfilling her wish, I think, in giving it,instead, to you, who were her oldest friend; as I, alas! had time to beonly her latest.
She had read nearly all these essays; and, during those weeks of herillness which I spent last autumn in Gascony, she had made me rewriteseveral among them. She wanted to learn to read English aloud, and itamused her and delighted me that she should do so on my writings. HerFrench pronunciation gave an odd grace to the sentences; the littlehesitation spaced and accentuated their meaning; and I liked what I hadwritten when she read it. The afternoons at Paraÿs which we spenttogether in this way! Prints of Mère Angélique and Ces Messieurs dePort Royal watching over us in her spacious bedroom, brown and yetlight like the library it had become; and among those Jansenistworthies, the Turin Pallas Athena, with a sprig of green box as anoffering from our friend. Yes; what I had written seemed good when readby her. And then there were the words which had to be looked out in thedictionary, bringing discussions on all manner of subjects, andwonderful romantic stories, like the "Golden Legend," about grandparentsand servants and neighbours, giving me time to rearrange the cushionsand to settle the fur over her feet. And the other words, hard topronounce (she must always invert, from sheer anxiety, the Englishth's and s's); I had to say them first, and once more, and yetagain. And we laughed, and I kissed her beloved patient face and herdear young white hair. I don't think it ever occurred to tell her myintention of putting her name on this volume—it went without saying.And besides, had not everything I could do or be of good belonged to herduring the eighteen months we had been friends?
There was another reason, however, why this book more particularlyshould have been hers; and having been hers, dear Madame Blanc, yours.Do you remember telling me how, years ago, and in a terrible moment ofyour experience, she had surprised you, herself still so young, by aremark which had sunk deep into your mind and had very greatly helpedyou? "We must," you told me she had said, "be prepared to begin lifemany times afresh." Now that is the thought, though never clearlyexpressed, which runs through these essays. And the essential goodnessand fruitfulness of life, its worthiness to be lived over and overagain, had come home to me more and more with the knowledge and the loveof her who had made my own life so far happier and more significant. Sothat my endeavour to enumerate some of the unnoticed gifts and deepestconsolations of life has come to be connected in my mind with thiscreature who consoled so many and gave herself, with such absolute giftof loving-kindness or gratitude, to all people and all things thatdeserved it.
That life is worthy to be lived well, with fortitude, tenderness, and acertain reserved pride and humility, was indeed the essential, unspokentenet of Gabrielle Delzant's religion, into which there entered, notmerely the teachings of Stoics and Jansenists, but the traditionalgaiety and gallant bearing of the little southern French nobles fromwhom she was desc