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From Mme Martin to Mme Guérin CF 186 - January 28, 1877.

 

From Mme Martin to Mme Guérin

January 28, 1877

I received your letter as well as the telegram, and truly, you go to far too much trouble for me. I’m quite overcome; I don’t deserve anyone taking care of me so much. My life is not so precious, and, if I die, there won’t be any more unhappiness over me than for someone else. There are so many people who are dying and would like to live, who consider themselves useful and whom God sees fit to take because, after their death, everything will only go better.

This doesn’t keep me from praying that the Blessed Mother will cure me. I’m impatiently waiting for a pilgrimage to Lourdes, and certainly, if my family needs me, I’ll be cured, because it’s not faith that I’m lacking. Nor do I lack the will to live, the future has appealed to me for some time. My illness may have thrown a little water on the fire, but it’s still not completely extinguished.

Tuesday I received news from Le Mans and my sister is still the same. The headmistress, who wrote to thank me for the geese, told me that they understand nothing more about her illness. However, the swelling is still getting worse, but very slowly.

The teacher sang the most flattering praises of Pauline; in short, she’s perfection.

My dear sister, you ask me for something that is very hard for me to do, to go to the doctor without having need of him. Didn’t he tell me there was nothing he could do and the medications were prescribed to make patients happy? I’ve had enough! You want him to determine if the illness has progressed? For that, I can inform you better than he can because I know it much better.

He’ll ask me my opinion on it, as he did when I went to see him with my brother, because there’s not enough progress for him to be able to remember one consultation from the other. When I’ll have informed him of any progress, what do you want him to tell me? He won’t talk about an operation. Quite certainly, that’s less necessary than ever.

Oh well, if you insist that I consult him, I don’t want to upset you, you who are so good to me. And yet he’s a rude character, whom I don’t really like. There needs to be a very good reason for me to speak to this man.

Look, if you don’t mind, let’s not talk about my illness anymore; it’s beginning to become boring. Let’s put it aside and talk about more cheerful things.

I see you mistook our mayor for a dead man. I didn’t tell you he’d died, but that he was still sleeping. That was true and that lasted until Saturday, after which he recognized the doctor. He’s paralyzed and can barely speak. Yesterday they were saying he’s much worse.

In the end he didn’t die. Unfortunately for him and his family, he owes a lot of money. His wife is ruining him with her luxury. Without his job paying fifteen thousand francs, he would have nothing, but now the job is lost! If he dies, his widow will have fifty thousand francs from a life insurance policy that he took out. I thought they were very rich but “all that glitters is not gold!”

I’m not waiting for any news from Le Mans to send you in this letter because I already took too long to answer you. You’re going to think I’m quite indifferent.

I kiss you with all my heart, my dear sister, and I thank you a thousand times. To please you, I’ll still go to the doctor.

My very kindest regards to everyone.

© Society of St. Paul / Alba House

 

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