1.F.1.7. CRAVATTE
IT is here that a fact falls naturally into place, which we
must not omit, because it is one of the sort which show us
best what sort of a man the Bishop of D. was.
After the destruction of the band of Gaspard Bes, who had
infested the gorges of Ollioules, one of his lieutenants, Cravatte,
took refuge in the mountains. He concealed himself
for some time with his bandits, the remnant of Gaspard Bes's
troop, in the county of Nice; then he made his way to Piedmont,
and suddenly reappeared in France, in the vicinity of
Barcelonette. He was first seen at Jauziers, then at Tuiles.
He hid himself in the caverns of the Joug-de-l'Aigle, and
thence he descended towards the hamlets and villages through
the ravines of Ubaye and Ubayette.
He even pushed as far as Embrun, entered the cathedral one
night, and despoiled the sacristy. His highway robberies laid
waste the country-side. The gendarmes were set on his track,
but in vain. He always escaped; sometimes he resisted by
main force. He was a bold wretch. In the midst of all this
terror the Bishop arrived. He was making his circuit to
Chastelar. The mayor came to meet him, and urged him to
retrace his steps. Cravatte was in possession of the mountains
as far as Arche, and beyond; there was danger even with an
escort; it merely exposed three or four unfortunate gendarmes
to no purpose.
"Therefore," said the Bishop, "I intend to go without
escort."
"You do not really mean that, Monseigneur!" exclaimed
the mayor.
"I do mean it so thoroughly that I absolutely refuse any
gendarmes, and shall set out in an hour."
"Set out?"
"Set out."
"Alone?"
"Alone.
"Monseigneur, you will not do that!"
"There exists yonder in the mountains," said the Bishop,
a tiny community no bigger than that, which I have not seen
for three years. They are my good friends, those gentle and
honest shepherds. They own one goat out of every thirty that
they tend. They make very pretty woollen cords of various
colors, and they play the mountain airs on little flutes with
six holes. They need to be told of the good God now and then.
What would they say to a bishop who was afraid? What
would they say if I did not go?"
"But the brigands, Monseigneur?"
"Hold," said the Bishop, "I must think of that. You are
right. I may meet them. They, too, need to be told of the
good God."
"But, Monseigneur, there is a band of them! A flock of
wolves!"
"Monsieur le maire, it may be that it is of this very flock of
wolves that Jesus has constituted me the shepherd. Who
knows the ways of Providence?"
"They will rob you, Monseigneur."
"I have nothing."
"They will kill you."
"An old goodman of a priest, who passes along mumbling
his prayers? Bah! To what purpose?"
"Oh, mon Dieu! what if you should meet them!"
"I should beg alms of them for my poor."
"Do not go, Monseigneur. In the name of Heaven! You
are risking your life!"
"Monsieur le maire," said the Bishop, "is that really all?
I am not in the world to guard my own life, but to guard
souls."
They had to allow him to do as he pleased. He set out,
accompanied only by a child who offered to serve as a guide.
His obstinacy was bruited about the country-side, and caused
great consternation.
He would take neither his sister nor Madame Magloire. He
traversed the mountain on mule-back, encountered no one, and
arrived safe and sound at the residence of his "good friends,"
the shepherds. He remained there for a fortnight, preaching,
administering the sacrament, teaching, exhorting. When the
time of his departure approached, he resolved to chant a Te
Deum pontifically. He mentioned it to the cure. But what
was to be done? There were no episcopal ornaments. They
could only place at his disposal a wretched village sacristy,
with a few ancient chasubles of threadbare damask adorned
with imitation lace.
"Bah!" said the Bishop. "Let us announce our Te Deum
from the pulpit, nevertheless, Monsieur le Cure. Things will
arrange themselves."
They instituted a search in the churches of the neighborhood.
All the magnificence of these humble parishes combined
would not have sufficed to clothe the chorister of a
cathedral properly.
While they were thus embarrassed, a large chest was brought
and deposited in the presbytery for the Bishop, by two unknown
horsemen, who departed on the instant. The chest was
opened; it contained a cope of cloth of gold, a mitre ornamented
with diamonds, an archbishop's cross, a magnificent
crosier, — all the pontifical vestments which had been stolen a
month previously from the treasury of Notre Dame d'Embrun.
In the chest was a paper, on which these words were written,
"From Cravatte to Monseigneur Bienvenu."
"Did not I say that things would come right of themselves?"
said the Bishop. Then he added, with a smile, "To
him who contents himself with the surplice of a curate, God
sends the cope of an archbishop."
"Monseigneur," murmured the cure, throwing back his head
with a smile. "God — or the Devil."
The Bishop looked steadily at the cure, and repeated with
authority, "God!"
When he returned to Chastelar, the people came out to stare
at him as at a curiosity, all along the road. At the priest's
house in Chastelar he rejoined Mademoiselle Baptistine and
Madame Magloire, who were waiting for him, and he said to
his sister: "Well! was I in the right? The poor priest went
to his poor mountaineers with empty hands, and he returns
from them with his hands full. I set out bearing only my
faith in God; I have brought back the treasure of a cathedral."
That evening, before he went to bed, he said again: "Let us
never fear robbers nor murderers. Those are dangers from
without, petty dangers. Let us fear ourselves. Prejudices are
the real robbers; vices are the real murderers. The great
dangers lie within ourselves. What matters it what threatens
our head or our purse! Let us think only of that which
threatens our soul."
Then, turning to his sister: "Sister, never a precaution on
the part of the priest, against his fellow-man. That which his
fellow does, God permits. Let us confine ourselves to prayer,
when we think that a danger is approaching us. Let us pray,
not for ourselves, but that our brother may not fall into sin on
our account."
However, such incidents were rare in his life. We relate
those of which we know; but generally he passed his life in
doing the same things at the same moment. One month of
his year resembled one hour of his day.
As to what became of "the treasure" of the cathedral of
Embrun, we should be embarrassed by any inquiry in that
direction. It consisted of very handsome things, very tempting
things, and things which were very well adapted to be
stolen for the benefit of the unfortunate. Stolen they had
already been elsewhere. Half of the adventure was completed;
it only remained to impart a new direction to the
theft, and to cause it to take a short trip in the direction of the
poor. However, we make no assertions on this point. Only,
a rather obscure note was found among the Bishop's papers,
which may bear some relation to this matter, and which is
couched in these terms,
"The question is, to decide whether
this should be turned over to the cathedral or to the hospital."