As soon as it was morning, I went to see Father, he received me with a smile. - I asked his permission to go to Mass. He graciously signaled me to go. He didn’t speak. He seemed to be perhaps not quite so tired as yesterday. The doctor seemed if not satisfied, at least less alarmed.
Father got up so that his bed could be made. He went by himself to sit in an armchair which was nearby.
Throughout the day he received those who came. He had a gracious and affable gesture for all. The Parish Priest came to see him. The chaplain of The Visitation also came.
I showed him his letters which had accumulated on his table. He glanced through the addresses but hadn’t the strength to read the enclosures. He got me to answer two or three. He told me in two or three words what he wanted to say.
He was fully aware. Father directed everything in his room, the placement of the chairs, the blinds, the shutters according to the position of the sun. He took an interest in everything, directed everything especially the hunt for flies in the morning, he made us begin with his bed, his alcove, showed me where to search, showed us which ones had escaped. In a word, he was, albeit without speech, the same as we had all known him, all things to all.
When he could not express himself because of the loss of speech did not allow him to say certain syllables, he smiled and had a little gesture of discouragement, half friendly half resigned, which seemed to say: “Sorry to keep you waiting like this, but I can’t express myself, do what you wish”.
I wrote a few letters, among others, to all the houses to redouble the prayers and the times near to God.
To tell the truth, I didn’t suspect the gravity of the illness, or rather, I did not want to believe it. Apart from the fact that I believed that in some way Our Saviour just had to perform a miracle for his Servant, the symptoms of the illness being less severe misled me. The Father’s real illness was weakness. The Doctor told me that constantly in seeing Father like that, I didn’t take full account of his fears. - That evening I sat with Father until one o’clock in the morning. He took a little infusion. The night was fairly peaceful.
This text is transcribed from a copy preserved in the Archives of the French Province in Paris. The Punctuation has been slightly adjusted for ease of reading.
The copy from the Paris archive has as its title, in Fr. J. Lavigne’s writing, “Notes of very Rev. Fr. Tesniere (Bro. Albert) on the last days of Blessed Peter Julian Eymard”.