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gratitude in my heart。 I have so much to tell you of； so many feelings
to describe； that I don't know where to begin； but from amidst these
confused memories； one rises distinctly； that of my prayer in the
church。
When I found myself transformed into a joyful mother； on the very spot
where； as a girl； I had trembled for my future； it seemed to my fancy
that the Virgin on the altar bowed her head and pointed to the infant
Christ； who smiled at me！ My heart full of pure and heavenly love； I
held out little Armand for the priest to bless and bathe； in
anticipation of the regular baptism to come later。 But you will see us
together then； Armand and me。
My childcome see how readily the word comes； and indeed there is
none sweeter to a mother's heart and mind or on her lipswell； then；
dear child； during the last two months I used to drag myself wearily
and heavily about the gardens； not realizing yet how precious was the
burden； spite of all the discomforts it brought！ I was haunted by
forebodings so gloomy and ghastly； that they got the better even of
curiosity； in vain did I picture the delights of motherhood。 My heart
made no response even to the thought of the little one； who announced
himself by lively kicking。 That is a sensation； dear； which may be
welcome when it is familiar； but as a novelty； it is more strange than
pleasing。 I speak for myself at least； you know I would never affect
anything I did not really feel； and I look on my child as a gift
straight from Heaven。 For one who saw in it rather the image of the
man she loved； it might be different。
But enough of such sad thoughts； gone； I trust； for ever。
When the crisis came； I summoned all my powers of resistance； and
braced myself so well for suffering； that I bore the horrible agony
so they tell mequite marvelously。 For about an hour I sank into a
sort of stupor； of the nature of a dream。 I seemed to myself then two
beingsan outer covering racked and tortured by red…hot pincers； and
a soul at peace。 In this strange state the pain formed itself into a
sort of halo hovering over me。 A gigantic rose seemed to spring out of
my head and grow ever larger and larger； till it enfolded me in its
blood…red petals。 The same color dyed the air around； and everything I
saw was blood…red。 At last the climax came； when soul and body seemed
no longer able to hold together； the spasms of pain gripped me like
death itself。 I screamed aloud； and found fresh strength against this
fresh torture。 Suddenly this concert of hideous cries was overborne by
a joyful soundthe shrill wail of the newborn infant。 No words can
describe that moment。 It was as though the universe took part in my
cries； when all at once the chorus of pain fell hushed before the
child's feeble note。
They laid me back again in the large bed； and it felt like paradise to
me； even in my extreme exhaustion。 Three or four happy faces pointed
through tears to the child。 My dear； I exclaimed in terror：
〃It's just like a little monkey！ Are you really and truly certain it
is a child？〃
I fell back on my side； miserably disappointed at my first experience
of motherly feeling。
〃Don't worry； dear；〃 said my mother； who had installed herself as
nurse。 〃Why； you've got the finest baby in the world。 You mustn't
excite yourself； but give your whole mind now to turning yourself as
much as possible into an animal； a milch cow； pasturing in the
meadow。〃
I fell asleep then； fully resolved to let nature have her way。
Ah！ my sweet； how heavenly it was to waken up from all the pain and
haziness of the first days； when everything was still dim；
uncomfortable； confused。 A ray of light pierced the darkness； my heart
and soul； my inner selfa self I had never known beforerent the
envelope of gloomy suffering； as a flower bursts its sheath at the
first warm kiss of the sun； at the moment when the little wretch
fastened on my breast and sucked。 Not even the sensation of the
child's first cry was so exquisite as this。 This is the dawn of
motherhood； this is the /Fiat lux/！
Here is happiness； joy ineffable； though it comes not without pangs。
Oh！ my sweet jealous soul； how you will relish a delight which exists
only for ourselves； the child； and God！ For this tiny creature all
knowledge is summed up in its mother's breast。 This is the one bright
spot in its world； towards which its puny strength goes forth。 Its
thoughts cluster round this spring of life； which it leaves only to
sleep； and whither it returns on waking。 Its lips have a sweetness
beyond words； and their pressure is at once a pain and a delight； a
delight which by every excess becomes pain； or a pain which culminates
in delight。 The sensation which rises from it； and which penetrates to
the very core of my life； baffles all description。 It seems a sort of
centre whence a myriad joy…bearing rays gladden the heart and soul。 To
bear a child is nothing； to nourish it is birth renewed every hour。
Oh！ Louise； there is no caress of lover with half the power of those
little pink hands； as they stray about； seeking whereby to lay hold on
life。 And the infant glances； now turned upon the breast； now raised
to meet our own！ What dreams come to us as we watch the clinging
nursling！ All our powers； whether of mind or body； are at its service；
for it we breathe and think； in it our longings are more than
satisfied！ The sweet sensation of warmth at the heart； which the sound
of his first cry brought to melike the first ray of sunshine on the
earthcame again as I felt the milk flow into his mouth； again as his
eyes met mine； and at this moment I have felt it once more as his
first smile gave token of a mind working withinfor he has laughed；
my dear！ A laugh； a glance； a bite； a cryfour miracles of gladness
which go straight to the heart and strike chords that respond to no
other touch。 A child is tied to our heart…strings； as the spheres are
linked to their creator； we cannot think of God except as a mother's
heart writ large。
It is only in the act of nursing that a woman realizes her motherhood
in visible and tangible fashion； it is a joy of every moment。 The milk
becomes flesh before our eyes； it blossoms into the tips of those
delicate flower…like fingers； it expands in tender； transparent nails；
it spins the silky tresses； it kicks in the little feet。 Oh！ those
baby feet； how plainly they talk to us！ In them the child finds its
first language。
Yes； Louise； nursing is a miracle of transformation going on before
one's bewildered eyes。 Those cries； they go to your heart and not your
ears； those smiling eyes and lips； those plunging feet； they speak in
words which could not be plainer if God traced them before you in
letters of fire！ What else is there in the world to care about？ The
father？ Why； you could kill him if he dreamed of waking the baby！ Just
as the child is the world to us； so do we stand alone in the world for
the child。 The sweet consciousness of a common life is ample
recompense for all the trouble and sufferingfor suffering there is。
Heaven save you； Louise； from ever knowing the maddening agony of a
wound which gapes afresh with every pressure of rosy lips； a