1.C.8.2. FAUCHELEVENT IN THE PRESENCE OF A DIFFICULTY
IT is the peculiarity of certain persons and certain professions,
notably priests and nuns, to wear a grave and agitated
air on critical occasions. At the moment when
Fauchelevent entered, this double form of preoccupation was
imprinted on the countenance of the prioress, who was that
wise and charming Mademoiselle de Blemeur, Mother Innocente,
who was ordinarily cheerful.
The gardener made a timid bow, and remained at the door
of the cell. The prioress, who was telling her beads, raised
her eyes and said:—
"Ah! it is you, Father Fauvent."
This abbreviation had been adopted in the convent.
Fauchelevent bowed again.
"Father Fauvent, I have sent for you."
"Here I am, reverend Mother."
"I have something to say to you."
"And so have I," said Fauchelevent with a boldness which
caused him inward terror, "I have something to say to the
very reverend Mother."
The prioress stared at him.
"Ah! you have a communication to make to me."
"A request."
"Very well, speak."
Goodman Fauchelevent, the ex-notary, belonged to the category
of peasants who have assurance. A certain clever ignorance
constitutes a force; you do not distrust it, and you are
caught by it. Fauchelevent had been a success during the
something more than two years which he had passed in the
convent. Always solitary and busied about his gardening, he
had nothing else to do than to indulge his curiosity. As he
was at a distance from all those veiled women passing to and
fro, he saw before him only an agitation of shadows. By dint
of attention and sharpness he had succeeded in clothing all
those phantoms with flesh, and those corpses were alive for
him. He was like a deaf man whose sight grows keener, and
like a blind man whose hearing becomes more acute. He had
applied himself to riddling out the significance of the different
peals, and he had succeeded, so that this taciturn and
enigmatical cloister possessed no secrets for him; the sphinx
babbled all her secrets in his ear. Fauchelevent knew all and
concealed all; that constituted his art. The whole convent
thought him stupid. A great merit in religion. The vocal
mothers made much of Fauchelevent. He was a curious mute.
He inspired confidence. Moreover, he was regular, and never
went out except for well-demonstrated requirements of the
orchard and vegetable garden. This discretion of conduct
had inured to his credit. None the less, he had set two men
to chattering: the porter, in the convent, and he knew the
singularities of their parlor, and the grave-digger, at the
cemetery, and he was acquainted with the peculiarities of
their sepulture; in this way, he possessed a double light on
the subject of these nuns, one as to their life, the other as
to their death. But he did not abuse his knowledge. The
congregation thought a great deal of him. Old, lame, blind
to everything, probably a little deaf into the bargain,— what
qualities! They would have found it difficult to replace him.
The goodman, with the assurance of a person who feels
that he is appreciated, entered into a rather diffuse and very
deep rustic harangue to the reverend prioress. He talked a
long time about his age, his infirmities, the surcharge of years
counting double for him henceforth, of the increasing
demands of his work, of the great size of the garden, of nights
which must be passed, like the last, for instance, when he
had been obliged to put straw mats over the melon beds,
because of the moon, and he wound up as follows: "That he
had a brother"— (the prioress made a movement),— "a
brother no longer young"— (a second movement on the part
of the prioress, but one expressive of reassurance),— "that,
if he might be permitted, this brother would come and live
with him and help him, that he was an excellent gardener,
that the community would receive from him good service,
better than his own; that, otherwise, if his brother were not
admitted, as he, the elder, felt that his health was broken
and that he was insufficient for the work, he should be obliged,
greatly to his regret, to go away; and that his brother had a
little daughter whom he would bring with him, who might
be reared for God in the house, and who might, who knows,
become a nun some day."
When he had finished speaking, the prioress stayed the slipping
of her rosary between her fingers, and said to him:—
"Could you procure a stout iron bar between now and this
evening?"
"For what purpose?"
"To serve as a lever."
"Yes, reverend Mother," replied Fauchelevent.
The prioress, without adding a word, rose and entered the
adjoining room, which was the hall of the chapter, and where
the vocal mothers were probably assembled. Fauchelevent
was left alone.