1.F.2.2. PRUDENCE COUNSELLED TO WISDOM.
THAT evening, the Bishop of D., after his promenade
through the town, remained shut up rather late in his room.
He was busy over a great work on Duties, which was never
completed, unfortunately. He was carefully compiling everything
that the Fathers and the doctors have said on this
important subject. His book was divided into two parts:
firstly, the duties of all; secondly, the duties of each individual,
according to the class to which he belongs. The duties
of all are the great duties. There are four of these. Saint
Matthew points them out: duties towards God (Matt. vi.) ;
duties towards one's self (Matt. v. 29, 30) ; duties towards
one's neighbor (Matt. vii. 12) ; duties towards animals (
Matt.
vi. 20, 25). As for the other duties the Bishop found them
pointed out and prescribed elsewhere: to sovereigns and subjects,
in the Epistle to the Romans; to magistrates, to wives,
to mothers, to young men, by Saint Peter; to husbands,
fathers, children and servants, in the Epistle to the Ephesians;
to the faithful,in the Epistle to the Hebrews; to virgins,
in the Epistle to the Corinthians. Out of these precepts he
was laboriously constructing a harmonious whole, which he
desired to present to souls.
At eight o'clock he was still at work, writing with a good
deal of inconvenience upon little squares of paper, with a big
book open on his knees, when Madame Magloire entered,
according to her wont, to get the silver-ware from the cupboard
near his bed. A moment later, the Bishop, knowing
that the table was set, and that his sister was probably waiting
for him, shut his book, rose from his table, and entered the
dining-room.
The dining-room was an oblong apartment, with a fireplace,
which had a door opening on the street (as we have said), and
a window opening on the garden.
Madame Magloire was, in fact, just putting the last touches
to the table.
As she performed this service, she was conversing with
Mademoiselle Baptistine.
A lamp stood on the table; the table was near the fireplace.
A wood fire was burning there.
One can easily picture to one's self these two women, both
of whom were over sixty years of age. Madame Magloire
small, plump, vivacious; Mademoiselle Baptistine gentle,
slender, frail, somewhat taller than her brother, dressed in a
gown of puce-colored silk, of the fashion of 1806, which she
had purchased at that date in Paris, and which had lasted
ever since. To borrow vulgar phrases, which possess the merit
of giving utterance in a single word to an idea which a whole
page would hardly suffice to express, Madame Magloire had
the air of a peasant, and Mademoiselle Baptistine that of a
lady. Madame Magloire wore a white quilted cap, a gold
Jeannette cross on a velvet ribbon upon her neck, the only bit
of feminine jewelry that there was in the house, a very white
fichu puffing out from a gown of coarse black woollen stuff,
with large, short sleeves, an apron of cotton cloth in red and
green checks, knotted round the waist with a green ribbon,
with a stomacher of the same attached by two pins at the
upper corners, coarse shoes on her feet, and yellow stockings,
like the women of Marseilles. Mademoiselle Baptistine's
gown was cut on the patterns of 1806, with a short waist, a
narrow, sheath-like skirt, puffed sleeves, with flaps and buttons.
She concealed her gray hair under a frizzed wig known
as the baby wig. Madame Magloire had an intelligent, vivacious,
and kindly air; the two corners of her mouth unequally
raised, and her upper lip, which was larger than the lower,
imparted to her a rather crabbed and imperious look. So
long as Monseigneur held his peace, she talked to him resolutely
with a mixture of respect and freedom; but as soon as
Monseigneur began to speak, as we have seen, she obeyed
passively like her mistress. Mademoiselle Baptistine did not
even speak. She confined herself to obeying and pleasing
him. She had never been pretty, even when she was young;
she had large, blue, prominent eyes, and a long arched nose;
but her whole visage, her whole person, breathed forth an
ineffable goodness, as we stated in the beginning. She had
always been predestined to gentleness; but faith, charity,
hope, those three virtues which mildly warm the soul, had
gradually elevated that gentleness to sanctity. Nature had
made her a lamb, religion had made her an angel. Poor
sainted virgin! Sweet memory which has vanished!
Mademoiselle Baptistine has so often narrated what passed
at the episcopal residence that evening, that there are many
people now living who still recall the most minute details.
At the moment when the Bishop entered, Madame Magloire
was talking with considerable vivacity. She was haranguing
Mademoiselle Baptistine on a subject which was familiar to
her and to which the Bishop was also accustomed. The question
concerned the lock upon the entrance door.
It appears that while procuring some provisions for supper,
Madame Magloire had heard things in divers places. People
had spoken of a prowler of evil appearance; a suspicious vagabond
had arrived who must be somewhere about the town, and
those who should take it into their heads to return home late
that night might be subjected to unpleasant encounters. The
police was very badly organized, moreover, because there was
no love lost between the Prefect and the Mayor, who sought to
injure each other by making things happen. It behooved wise
people to play the part of their own police, and to guard themselves
well, and care must be taken to duly close, bar and
barricade their houses, and to fasten the doors well.
Madame Magloire emphasized these last words; but the
Bishop had just come from his room, where it was rather cold.
He seated himself in front of the fire, and warmed himself,
and then fell to thinking of other things. He did not take up
the remark dropped with design by Madame Magloire. She
repeated it. Then Mademoiselle Baptistine, desirous of satisfying
Madame Magloire without displeasing her brother,
ventured to say timidly: —
"Did you hear what Madame Magloire is saying, brother?"
"I have heard something of it in a vague way," replied the
Bishop. Then half-turning in his chair, placing his hands on
his knees, and raising towards the old servant woman his
cordial face, which so easily grew joyous, and which was illuminated
from below by the firelight, — "Come, what is the
matter? What is the matter? Are we in any great danger?"
Then Madame Magloire began the whole story afresh, exaggerating
it a little without being aware of the fact. It
appeared that a Bohemian, a bare-footed vagabond, a sort of
dangerous mendicant, was at that moment in the town. He
had presented himself at Jacquin Labarre's to obtain lodgings,
but the latter had not been willing to take him in. He
had been seen to arrive by the way of the boulevard Gassendi
and roam about the streets in the gloaming. A gallows-bird
with a terrible face.
"Really!" said the Bishop.
This willingness to interrogate encouraged Madame Magloire;
it seemed to her to indicate that the Bishop was on
the point of becoming alarmed; she pursued triumphantly: —
"Yes, Monseigneur. That is how it is. There will be some
sort of catastrophe in this town to-night. Every one says so.
And withal, the police is so badly regulated" (a useful repetition).
"The idea of living in a mountainous country, and not
even having lights in the streets at night! One goes out.
Black as ovens, indeed! And I say, Monseigneur, and Mademoiselle
there says with me — "
"I," interrupted his sister, "say nothing. What my brother
does is well done."
Madame Magloire continued as though there had been no
protest: —
"We say that this house is not safe at all; that if Monseigneur
will permit, I will go and tell Paulin Musebois, the locksmith,
to come and replace the ancient locks on the doors; we
have them, and it is only the work of a moment; for I say that
nothing is more terrible than a door which can be opened
from the outside with a latch by the first passerby; and I
say that we need bolts, Monseigneur, if only for this night;
moreover, Monseigneur has the habit of always saying 'come
in'; and besides, even in the middle of the night, O mon Dieu!
there is no need to ask permission."
At that moment there came a tolerably violent knock on the
door.
"Come in," said the Bishop.