A SISTER OF MERCY

Wairarapa Times-Age, 26 July 1940, Page 5

A SISTER OF MERCY

INCIDENT IN DE MUSSET'S LIFE. We do not know her name. There is nothing we can say about, her. Perhaps she was beautiful; we do not know. Perhaps she lived to a great age; it is possible. Perhaps she had left a fine home to devote herself to her work; nothing is more likely. She comes as a ray of sunshine in a daik room, and she passes out leaving no trace. We think of her when we think ot that strange, unnatural Frenchman, Alfred de Musset whose 47 years began and ended last century. He won fame, but few of us can admire him as a man, and Edward Fitzgerald has said of him that he belonged to the Gargoyle School —ugly in spirit, unhealthy in mind, degenerate. He lived a life which was by no means without shame. He did what no man can speak of with praise. But he was not wholly bad. And this is where the Sister of Mercy comes in. Long before his death, Musset, seriously ill, was nursed back to health by a Sister of Mercy, a rare soul who preached goodness by being good. When he was well again she gave him two very little things—simple, almost stupid things, a piece of worsted work she had knitted at his bedside, and a penholder of coloured silks. On it weie the wards. Remember your promise. What had he said to her? What had she made him promise, this quiet love-ly-spirited woman? We shall never know, but we know Alfred de Musset did not keep his promise, and that he sank lower still. And then his end came. It came when he was still young: and as the shadows gathered round, the face of that Sister' of Mercy shone before him, and her words echoed in his thoughts. Wild, careless man that he was. he whispered: Bring me the Sister of Mercy’s presents, and bury them with me.