THE BISHOP'S VISIT.
WE found Sister Sacristine very busy with her silver, of which there
was a great deal about the altar, and very glad of our offered help. We
went zealously to work, dusting and rubbing up the altar furniture, not
forgetting genuflections—curtsies—I should call them now every time we
passed before the high altar.
The next day was some Saint's day; I forget whose at this distance of
time, and Sister Sacristine, like a faithful woman that she was, was
just as anxious to have everything in order as if we were expecting the
presence of all the nobles in the country, instead of only a few poor
peasants in the Church, and our little band of Mothers and sisters in
the choir.
"There will not be many people here!" said the poor lady with a sigh
as she settled her chairs. "Ah! Children, many a time have I seen
this great church filled from end to end with ladies and gentlemen-I
remember when poor Sister Augustine was professed, her father and
mother came with a cavalcade, which almost filled the Church of
itself; and they offered that pair of silver gilt vases on the Shrine
of St. Anne. But times have changed since then, we shall have no one
to-morrow."
"We shall have the great Guest of all, dear Sister!" said Amabel. "And
where He is, we shall not miss any one else."
"That is true, my child, and yet—it is very hard to see the changes
which have been wrought in this house by time and the malice of our
enemies. But His will be done! There, children, I believe we have made
the best of everything now."
"Sister, let me climb up the ladder, and brush up St. Francis and St.
Bernard a little," said I, looking up to where St. Francis stood, with
his hands upraised as if he were imploring some celestial power to come
down and dust him.
"Well, if you are not afraid—I am too unsteady on my feet to venture
upon the ladder any more; but there is a good place to stand, once you
are up there."
I was as sure-footed as a goat, so I was not at all timid about
ascending the ladder. St. Francis was placed on a little platform or
balcony, where, as the Sister said, there was good standing room.
Amabel steadied the long ladder, while I ascended, and then reached
me up the duster and what else I wanted on the end of a long-handled
brush, such as here we call a Pope's head—I would not like to be the
one who called it so there. I was holding on to a kind of railing
with one hand, and putting St. Francis hair to rights with the other,
thinking to myself that the good saint looked as if he liked it, when
the Church door opened, and who should come in, breathless as if from
running, but Mother Prudentia.
"Sister, you are to come to Mother Superior's room at once, and you
also, my children. Lose no time, but Lucille, be careful how you come
down."
But I was already on the floor, and ready to follow Mother Prudentia,
to the presence of the Superior. Here we found all the sisterhood
assembled, and a scared bewildered looking set they were—our dear
Mother was as calm as usual, though a pink spot shone on her usually
pale cheeks, increasing the brilliancy of her always remarkable eyes.
As soon as we were all assembled in order, she addressed us.
"My Mothers and Sisters and you, my children, I have just received by
the hands of a special messenger, a letter from the Bishop of this
Diocese, in which he tells me that he will arrive within an hour upon
a special visitation, to enquire into certain alleged scandals and
disorders prevailing in this community."
She paused a moment, and the sisters looked at her and at each other in
utter amazement. Amabel gave my arm a little pinch and whispered very
softly, "Desireè."
"I can safely say, that I know of nothing in my family which should
bring such a charge upon us!" resumed the Superior. "But innocence is
not always a protection from the hands of ungodly and cruel men; not
that I would be understood, as applying such epithets to Mon seignor
the Bishop. Doubtless he has been misinformed. What I would impress
on you, my mothers and sisters, is that you should endeavor in this
extremity, to preserve an equal and tranquil spirit, wholly resigned
to the will of Heaven, whatever may happen. I will not disguise to
you, my apprehensions that this visit may be the prelude to great
changes—perhaps to grievous hardships and humiliations—possibly even to
the breaking up of our little community, which has borne so many storms
already. Be that as it may, our duty is plain. Let us set before us the
example of the noble Mother Angelique, who, when calumniated and heaped
with insults in the very house where she had ruled as Superior, bore
all with patience, and never retorted on her persecutors by a look or a
word, thus making her enemies ashamed of their cruel malignity. Above
all, let us remember that our sufferings may be rendered an acceptable
offering to God. My mothers and sisters, let us in the little time that
remains, seek the protection of the Queen of Heaven!"
She dropped on her knees as she spoke, and all in the room followed
her example. (Nuns have a peculiar sudden fashion of doing this,
unattainable without practice. I don't believe I could do it myself
now, without falling over on my nose.) It is very much to be hoped that
the Blessed Mary does not know the way in which her name is treated
in this world, and how to her are attributed the titles which belong
only to her Son. But it was all right in my eyes at that time, and when
I heard our Lord's mother addressed as the Morning Star, the Gate of
Heaven, the Refuge of sinners, etc., I responded "Ora pro nobis" with
undoubting faith.
We were still on our knees, when we heard the arrival of a numerous
cavalcade before the house, and presently a loud knocking at the gate.
Immediately the portress was sent to open it, and we all formed in
procession as when we entered Church; the younger sisters at the head
and the Superior last. On this occasion she led Amabel and myself by
the hand.
Our parlor where the nuns received their guests was a large room
sparely furnished with a few very hard chairs, and a most ghastly
picture of the death of St. Francis. About one-third of this room was
shut off by a grille or grate, as is usual in such places, and behind
this was our station.
The outer room was occupied by the Bishop, and two or three attendant
priests. Mon seignor was a short, stout man, with rather rebellious
white hair, and an expression of a kind of pompous fussiness. He was
speaking in a loud and somewhat angry tone to one of his attendants,
and I caught the words—
"Intentional disrespect—make an example—perverse rebellious woman—" all
of which seemed to come as it were from the depths of his stomach.
We entered slowly, the sisters taking their places with folded hands
and down-cast eyes, with as little apparent trepidation as if about to
assist at any ordinary ceremony. The Bishop turned sharply around, and
spoke before the Abbess had time to advance to the grating.
"So madame! This is the way you receive your Bishop! Did I not send a
messenger to acquaint you with my coming? Why then were you not here,
prepared to receive me with due respect?"
"Mon seignor!" answered the Superior calmly. "It is not according to
the rules of our house for us to await visitors in the parlor. I am
bound by those rules, and if our Holy Father the Pope were to honor us
with a visit, I would do no otherwise."
The Superior had the best of it, for a nun is bound to obey the
"constitutions" of her house to the smallest article, as the Bishop
knew very well. But of course, that did not make him feel any more
amiable. He was evidently getting ready for a crushing reply, adjusting
meantime his glasses on his nose, for he was very short-sighted; but he
rather spoiled the effect by getting into difficulties with the string,
which held them around his neck. At last however, the glasses were in
their place, and he prepared to open his Episcopal batteries.
"Madame!" he began in the sternest tone—but there he stopped. He could
now see Mother Superior's face, which I presume he was unable to do
before. I never saw so sudden a change. His face seemed to soften and
grow youthful in a moment; his lip quivered with a smile, which quite
transformed him. He spoke in a very different tone from that in which
he began.
"Madame! Is it possible, that I see before me Jacqueline de Rozier?"
It was now the turn of the Abbess to change color. She grew very white,
but it was with a steady voice that she answered—"That was my name in
the world, Mon seignor—and you?—"
"And I am Henri Garnier—" said the Bishop.
"They told me that you had died in the Indies, by the bite of a
poisonous serpent," said the Superior, who had quite recovered her
color. "I rejoice Mon seignor, to see you in life and health and
filling such an exalted station."
Now at that time of my life I had so far as I know, never even seen the
outside of a romance—or heard a love-story—yet I knew in a moment that
the Superior and the Bishop had once been in love with each other. I
ventured to glance at Mother Bursar, and saw those rebellious dimples
of hers, dancing for a moment round the corners of her mouth, though
she speedily reduced them to order.
"I was indeed bitten by a serpent in the Island of Martinique, and lay
at the very point of death when my regiment sailed for France!" said
the Bishop. "I recovered however at last, and by grace of Mary, was led
to devote myself to a religious life as well as yourself. Madame, the
Superior, and myself are cousins and were playmates in our childhood,"
he added, turning to his attendants—this time with real dignity of
manner. "We have not met since we were both quite young. I rejoice to
find her in such a useful and honorable position."
The priests made no answer, but I saw a sly glance of amusement pass
between them.
"And now to business!" said the Bishop. "Madame, you have for some time
had in your family a pupil and postulant named Desireè de La Mothe,
daughter of the present Countess de Crequi by a former husband!"
"It is true, Mon seignor! The young lady in question was returned to
her friends about two weeks since."
"And why was she so returned since you had received her as a postulant?"
"Because, Mon seignor, I did not perceive in her any true vocation for
the religious life," answered the Superior.
"Then it was not for want of a satisfactory dowry, that she was
refused!"
"Far from it, Mon seignor; we are a very poor community, but I can
safely say that I would never refuse a postulant with a true vocation,
though she came to me with nothing but the clothes she stood in. The
Count de Crequi was so good as to offer me a double dowry, if I would
consent to receive his step-daughter, but I need not say, I declined."
"And quite rightly!" answered the Bishop. "I wish all heads of
religious houses were as disinterested as yourself. But the love of
money, my brothers and sisters, is the root of all evil, as the Holy
Apostle says. Let us be thankful that our state of life shelters us
from its baleful influence. However, to return to the subject of this
interview, which it is my painful duty to bring before you." Here he
found his box, took a pinch of snuff, and thus fortified, made a fresh
start.
"I will not, Reverend Mother, disguise from you the fact that this
young lady, Desireè de La Mothe has plainly testified to the existence
of certain very grave scandals under this roof; such as are not to be
tolerated in any community, much less a religious one. These things
having been brought to my ears by my relation by marriage to the Count
de Crequi, it becomes my duty to thoroughly investigate them. I have
no doubt that such an investigation will turn to your credit and that
of your family—" here I saw the two priests again exchange looks—"but
nevertheless it is, as you must see, my duty to make it."
"Assuredly, Mon seignor!" answered the Superior. "I have no other wish
than to afford you every facility. How would your Greatness wish to
proceed?"
"Oh! I suppose the proper way would be to examine each one of the
family separately; which I will myself do with your permission. But
these are not all!"
"All, Mon seignor! Save one!"
"And the lay sisters?"
"We have none, Mon seignor; our last lay sister died a year ago, at
the age of eighty-nine. For a long time all the work of the house and
garden has been performed by the choir sisters."
"This is indeed holy poverty!" said the Bishop, turning to his two
attendants, who remarked in answer that it was very edifying, one of
them adding it was to be hoped that the cares of this life had not
distracted the sisters from their religious duties.
"I do not think such cares are apt to have that effect!" said the
Bishop somewhat sharply. "How say you, Reverend Mother!"
"We have hitherto been enabled to keep up the practice of perpetual
adoration of the holy sacrament," answered the Superior. "At no time
since my entrance into the house, has it been suspended for a whole
hour. The only sister now absent is at her post in the chapel; nor so
far as I know have we failed in any of the other services of our holy
religion. The heart of course is known only to God."
"And this is all that remains of the family once numbered by scores!"
said the Bishop. "And who are these young ladies?" he asked turning to
Amabel and myself, who were close to the grating at one end, as Mother
Assistant was at the other.
"These are two young English girls!" was the reply. "Sir Julius
Leighton, a Catholic gentleman of England, left them under my charge
about thirteen years ago, and they have been with me ever since; but I
am expecting to part with them very soon."
This explanation made, the sisterhood were directed to withdraw, while
the Superior remained. The Sisters were then called in and examined one
by one, returning with very pink faces, and very indignant.
"That wicked Desireè—that snake in the grass!" Such were some of
the epithets bestowed upon her. "That she should dare to say that
we received the visits of men! As if I ever spoke to a man save the
Confessor and old Jacques the gardener, since I was first professed!"
said Sister Filomena, bursting into a flood of tears as she rejoined us.
"Hush, my Sister! Compose yourself!" said the Mother Assistant kindly.
N. B. * Sister Filomena was about the plainest woman I ever saw, with
a moustache, and a perpetual red nose. If the Bishop had not been the
Bishop, I should say he had been making game of the poor old soul.
"Nobody who knows you can have any doubt of the propriety of your
conduct. Come, let these children see you set an example of patience
and calmness, and of forgiveness of injuries."
* N. B.—nota bene
"But that wicked girl—what could have induced her to slander us so!"
said another sister. "To say that we used up our revenues in feasting."
"And that we—but there is no use in talking!" added Sister Benedict,
catching the Mother's eye. "It is too abominable!"
At last it came to Amabel's turn and mine; and hand in hand, as usual,
we entered the parlor.
The Bishop had evidently talked himself into high good humor by this
time, for he was laughing and offering his snuff-box to his companions.
"Ah! And here are the lambs of the flock!" said he, as we somewhat
timidly drew near the grating. "Come near, my little daughters, and
fear nothing."
He then asked us several questions in a fatherly sort of way, about our
families, and we told him all we knew, which was not much.
"And how do you use your time? Come, now," addressing himself to me,
"think, and tell me exactly what you were doing, when you were called
to the Superior on this occasion."
"I was brushing St. Francis' hair, Mon seignor," I answered simply.
"Brushing St. Francis' hair? What does the child mean; one has heard of
dressing St. Catherine's hair, but never of St. Francis', as I think." *
* "Dressing St. Catherine's hair" is a kind of proverbial expression
for being an old maid.
I explained, that I was assisting Sister Sacristine to prepare the
Church for to-morrow's feast day.
"Ah! Very well, very good—and you, my child?" turning to Amabel!
"I was arranging the flowers on the altar of our Lady, Mon seignor."
"Very good again—there, you may go, and here are some comfits for you,
but I daresay you have enough of them since the good sisters make such
beautiful sweetmeats, eh!"
"No! Mon seignor, the Mother Bursar sells all the sweetmeats, that she
may help the poor women of the village," answered Amabel.
Whereas there was another interchange of looks, and we were permitted
to retire, not at all sorry to get off so easily.
The Bishop and his attendant priests were then conducted by the
Superior and Mother Assistant, through the whole building. It was even
proposed that he should descend and examine the vaults; but this was
hastily and decidedly declined, by his Grandeur.
"No! no! That is not needful—we have heard that they are very extensive
and curious, however—perhaps Father Andre and his companions would like
to inspect them."
"It would not be safe for them to do so without a guide!" said the
Superior. "The passages are very intricate and there are dangerous
pools of water, but should your Grandeur desire it, Mother Assistant
and myself will lead the way."
But it was evident that this description was enough to satisfy any
curiosity the Reverend Fathers might have felt on the subject, and as
the Bishop did not insist on the matter, no more was said.
While this inspection had been going on, Sister Lazarus and her
assistants had been getting up the best collation the resources of
the house afforded. Fortunately it was a fast day, and our own ponds
supplied us some good fish or the Bishop would have fared poorly.
However, we had excellent bread and butter, and cakes and sweetmeats,
and a bottle or two of good wine, and his lordship was pleased to
express himself highly delighted with his entertainment.
After the collation, we were assembled in the Church, and the Bishop
once more addressed us.
He did not disguise the fact that he had come hither with a strong
prepossession against the house; having been led by certain persons to
believe that the family were guilty of great irregularities, to say the
least. He did not say who these persons were, but we knew very well.
Contrary to what he expected, he had found great order, the severest
poverty and self-denial, and evidence of abundant good works. He did
not say those things to puff us up in our own esteem, but that we might
be encouraged to persevere, and even to surpass what we had already
accomplished. There existed indeed a degree of—he would not say error,
much less heresy—but a certain confusion of ideas upon some points of
doctrine, which he had no doubt would be dispelled by the perusal of
some books which he would have sent to us. It was also said that there
was a flaw in our title or charter; he would make it a point to have
this matter examined into, and we might be assured that justice would
be done.
He then gave us his blessing, exchanged a few words in private with
Mother Superior, and rode away.
He was entertained by the Count that evening, and I should not wonder
if madame and her daughter, did not find his visit very agreeable.
"Well, it has all turned out better than we had any reason to expect,"
remarked Mother Bursar.
"It has not turned out yet!" said Mother Prudentia, shaking her
head. "We have made an enemy of the Count, and he will not love us
the better, because the Bishop has come over to our side. The men
of that family know neither pity nor forgiveness; we have not heard
the last of it yet—but we are in better hands than his," she added
cheerfully—"wicked men can go no farther than is permitted them."
Of course this visit of the Bishop's furnished matter for conversation
and gossip for many days. Now that I look back at it, my own opinion
is that we owed our escape to the circumstance, that the Bishop had
discovered his old sweet-heart in our dear Mother Superior. Probably
they had been separated by friends, and the lady had taken the veil on
hearing her lover was dead; but that they had been lovers I am as sure,
as I am that Simon Sablot is looking for Anne Penberthy. The lad is
a good lad, and comes of good family, his parents having been exiles
for the truth's sake, and he shall not want my good word when the time
comes.
[Illustration]