1.F.1.9. THE BROTHER AS DEPICTED BY THE SISTER
IN order to furnish an idea of the private establishment of
the Bishop of D., and of the manner in which those two
sainted women subordinated their actions, their thoughts, their
feminine instincts even, which are easily alarmed, to the
habits and purposes of the Bishop, without his even taking
the trouble of speaking in order to explain them, we cannot do
better than transcribe in this place a letter from Mademoiselle
Baptistine to Madame the Vicomtess de Boischevron, the
friend of her childhood. This letter is in our possession.
D., Dec. 16, 18 — .
My GOOD MADAM: Not a day passes without our speaking of you.
It is our established custom; but there is another reason besides.
Just imagine, while washing and dusting the ceilings and walls, Madam
Magloire has made some discoveries; now our two chambers
hung with antique paper whitewashed over, would not discredit a
chateau in the style of yours. Madam Magloire has pulled off all
the paper. There were things beneath. My drawing-room, which contains
no furniture, and which we use for spreading out the linen
after washing, is fifteen feet in height, eighteen square, with a ceiling
which was formerly painted and gilded, and with beams, as in yours. This
was covered with a cloth while this was the hospital. And the
woodwork was of the era of our grandmothers. But my room is the one
you ought to see. Madam Magloire has discovered, under at least
ten thicknesses of paper pasted on top, some paintings, which
without being good are very tolerable. The subject is Telemachus
being knighted by Minerva in some gardens, the name of which
escapes me. In short, where the Roman ladies repaired on one
single
night. What shall I say to you? I have Romans, and Roman ladies
[here occurs an illegible word], and the whole train. Madam Magloire
has cleaned it all off; this summer she is going to have
some small injuries repaired, and the whole revarnished, and my chamber
will be a regular museum. She has also found in a corner of the
attic two wooden pier-tables of ancient fashion. They asked us two
crowns of six francs each to regild them, but it is much better to give
the money to the poor; and they are very ugly besides, and I should
much prefer a round table of mahogany.
I am always very happy. My brother is so good. He gives all
he has to the poor and sick. We are very much cramped. The country
is trying in the winter, and we really must do something for those
who are in need. We are almost comfortably lighted and warmed.
You see that these are great treats.
My brother has ways of his own. When he talks, he says that
a bishop ought to be so. Just imagine! the door of our house is
never fastened. Whoever chooses to enter finds himself at once in my
brother's room. He fears nothing, even at night. That is his sort
of bravery, he says.
He does not wish me or Madame Magloire feel any fear for him.
He exposes himself to all sorts of dangers, and he does not like to
have us even seem to notice it. One must know how to understand
him.
He goes out in the rain, he walks in the water, he travels in
winter. He fears neither suspicious roads nor dangerous encounters, nor
night.
Last year he went quite alone into a country of robbers. He
would not take us. He was absent for a fortnight. On his return nothing
had happened to him; he was thought to be dead, but was perfectly
well, and said, "This is the way I have been robbed!" And then he
opened a trunk full of jewels, all the jewels of the cathedral of
Embrun, which the thieves had given him.
When he returned on that occasion, I could not refrain from
scolding him a little, taking care, however, not to speak except when
the carriage was making a noise, so that no one might hear me.
At first I used to say to myself, "There are no dangers which
will stop him; he is terrible." Now I have ended by getting used to it.
I make a sign to Madam Magloire that she is not to oppose him.
He risks himself as he sees fit. I carry off Madam Magloire, I
enter my chamber, I pray for him and fall asleep. I am at ease, because
I know that if anything were to happen to him, it would be the end
of me. I should go to the good God with my brother and my bishop.
It has cost Madam Magloire more trouble than it did me to accustom
herself to what she terms his imprudences. But now the habit has
been acquired. We pray together, we tremble together, and we fall
asleep. If the devil were to enter this house, he would be allowed
to do so. After all, what is there for us to fear in this house?
There is always some one with us who is stronger than we. The devil
may pass through it, but the good God dwells here.
This suffices me. My brother has no longer any need of saying
a word to me. I understand him without his speaking, and we abandon
ourselves to the care of Providence. That is the way one has to do
with a man who possesses grandeur of soul.
I have interrogated my brother with regard to the information
which you desire on the subject of the Faux family. You are aware
that he knows everything, and that he has memories, because he is
still a very good royalist. They really are a very ancient Norman
family of the generalship of Caen. Five hundred years ago there
was a Raoul de Faux, a Jean de Faux, and a Thomas de Faux, who
were gentlemen, and one of whom was a seigneur de Rochefort. The
last was Guy-Etienne-Alexandre, and was commander of a regiment,
and something in the light horse of Bretagne. His daughter, Marie-Louise,
married Adrien-Charles de Gramont, son of the Duke Louis
de Gramont, peer of France, colonel of the French guards, and
lieutenant-general of the army. It is written Faux, Fauq, and Faoucq.
Good Madame, recommend us to the prayers of your sainted relative,
Monsieur the Cardinal. As for your dear Sylvanie, she has
done well in not wasting the few moments which she passes with you in
writing to me. She is well, works as you would wish, and loves me.
That is all that I desire. The souvenir which she sent through you
reached me safely, and it makes me very happy. My health is not so
very bad, and yet I grow thinner every day. Farewell; my paper is
at an end, and this forces me to leave you. A thousand good
wishes.
BAPTISTINE.
P.S. Your grand nephew is charming. Do you know that he will
soon be five years old? Yesterday he saw some one riding by on
horseback who had on knee-caps, and he said, "What has he got on his
knees?" He is a charming child! His little brother is dragging
an old broom about the room, like a carriage, and saying, "Hu!"
As will be perceived from this letter, these two women
understood how to mould themselves to the Bishop's ways with
that special feminine genius which comprehends the man
better than he comprehends himself. The Bishop of D., in
spite of the gentle and candid air which never deserted him,
sometimes did things that were grand, bold, and magnificent,
without seeming to have even a suspicion of the fact. They
trembled, but they let him alone. Sometimes Madame
Magloire essayed a remonstrance in advance, but never at the
time, nor afterwards. They never interfered with him by so
much as a word or sign, in any action once entered upon. At
certain moments, without his having occasion to mention it,
when he was not even conscious of it himself in all probability,
so perfect was his simplicity, they vaguely felt that he was
acting as a bishop; then they were nothing more than two
shadows in the house. They served him passively; and if
obedience consisted in disappearing, they disappeared. They
understood, with an admirable delicacy of instinct, that certain
cares may be put under constraint. Thus, even when
believing him to be in peril, they understood, I will not say
his thought, but his nature, to such a degree that they no
longer watched over him. They confided him to God.
Moreover, Baptistine said, as we have just read, that her
brother's end would prove her own. Madame Magloire did
not say this, but she knew it.