AT this time Mirande was nearing the close of her seventeenth year.
She was beautiful, and well grown. An air of purity, innocence, and
artlessness hung round her like a veil. The length of her eyelashes,
which barred her blue eyes, and the childlike smallness of her mouth,
gave the impression that evil could never find means to enter into her.
Her ears were so tiny, so fine, so finished and so delicate, that the
least modest of men could never have dared to breathe into them any but
the most innocent of speeches. In the whole of Ver-vigbole no virgin
inspired so much respect, and none had greater need to do so, for she
was marvellously simple, credulous, and defenceless.
The pious Bishop Nicolas, her uncle, cherished her more dearly every
day, and was more deeply attached to her than one should be to any of
God’s creatures. He loved her, undoubtedly, in God; but he also loved
her for herself; he took great delight in her, and he loved to love her;
it was his only weakness. The Saints themselves are not always able to
cut through all the ties of the flesh.
St. Nicolas loved his niece, with a pure love, but not without
gratification of the senses. On the day following that on which he had
learned of Robin’s bankruptcy, he went to see Mirande in order to hold
pious converse with her, as was his duty, for he stood in the place of a
father to her, and had taken charge of her education.
She lived in the upper town, near the Cathedral in a house called “The
House of the Musicians,” because there were to be seen on its front men
and animals playing on divers instruments. There were, notably, an ass
playing a flute, and a philosopher, recognizable by his long beard and
ink-horn, clashing cymbals. Every one explained these figures according
to his fancy. It was the finest dwelling-house in the town.
The Bishop found his niece crouching on the floor, with dishevelled
hair, her eyes glittering with tears, by the side of an empty, open
coffer, in a room full of confusion.
He inquired of her the reason of this affliction, and of the disorder
that prevailed around her. Turning upon him her despairing gaze, she
told him with a thousand sighs that Robin, the Robin who had escaped
from the salting-tub, the darling Robin, having many a time told her
that if she ever wanted a dress, an ornament or a jewel, he would gladly
lend her the money wherewith to buy it, she had frequently had recourse
to his kindness, which appeared inexhaustible; but that very morning a
Jew called Seligmann had come to her with four sheriff’s officers, had
presented the notes, signed by herself, which she had given Robin, and
as she had not the money to pay them he had taken away all the clothes,
head-dresses and jewels which she possessed.
“He has taken,” she sobbed, “my bodices and petticoats of velvet,
brocade and lace; my diamonds, my emeralds, my sapphires, my jacinths,
my amethysts, my rubies, my garnets, and my turquoises; he has taken my
great diamond cross, with angels’ heads in enamel, my large necklace,
consisting of two table diamonds, three cabochons, and six knots each
of four pearls; he has taken my great collar of thirteen table diamonds,
and twenty hanging pearls!”
And without saying more she wept bitterly into her handkerchief.
“My daughter,” answered the saintly Bishop, “a Christian virgin is
sufficiently adorned when she wears modesty for a necklace, and chastity
for a girdle. None the less, as the scion of a most noble and most
illustrious family it was right that you should wear diamonds and
pearls. Your jewels were the treasury of the poor, and I deplore the
fact that they should have been snatched from you.”
He assured her that she would certainly recover them, either in this
world or the next; he said everything possible to assuage her regret,
and soothe her sorrow, and he comforted her. For she had a tender
soul, which longed for consolation. But he himself left her full of
affliction.
On the following day, as he was about to celebrate Mass in the
cathedral, the holy Bishop saw coming towards him, in the sacristy, the
three Jews, Seligmann, Issachar, and Meyer, who, wearing green hats and
fillets upon their shoulders, very humbly presented him the notes which
Robin had made over to them. As the venerable pontiff could not pay
diem, they called up twenty porters, with baskets, sacks, picklocks,
carts, cords, and ladders, and commenced to pick the locks of the
wardrobes, coffers, and tabernacles. The holy man cast on them a look
which would have destroyed three Christians. He threatened them with the
penalties of sacrilege, both in this world and the next, he pointed
out that their mere presence in the house of the God, whom they had
crucified, called down the fire of heaven upon their heads. They
listened with the calm of people for whom anathema, reprobation,
malediction, and execration were their daily bread. He then prayed to
them, besought them, and promised to pay as soon as he could, twofold,
threefold, tenfold, a hundredfold, the debt which they had acquired.
They excused themselves politely for being unable to postpone the little
transaction. The Bishop threatened to sound the tocsin, to rouse against
them the people who would kill them like dogs for profaning, violating,
and stealing the miraculous images and holy relics. They smilingly
pointed to the sheriff’s officers, who were guarding them. They were
protected by King Berln, for they lent him money. At this sight the holy
Bishop, recognizing that resistance would be rebellion, and remembering
Him who replaced the ear of Malchus, remained inert and speechless, and
bitter tears dropped from his eyes. Seligmann, Issachar, and Meyer
took away the golden shrines enriched with precious stones, enamels and
cabochons, the reliquaries in the form of chalices, lanterns, naves, and
towers, the portable altars of alabaster encased in gold and silver, the
coffers enamelled by the skilful craftsmen of Limoges and the Rhine, the
altar-crosses, the Gospels bound in carved ivory and antique cameos,
the desks ornamented with festoons of trailing vines, the consular
registers, the pyxes, the candelabra and candlesticks, the lamp, of
which they blew out the sacred flame, and spilt the blessed oil on the
tiles, the chandeliers like enormous crowns, the duplets with beads of
pearl and amber, the eucharistie doves, the ciboria, the chalices, the
patens, the kisses of peace, incense boxes and flagons, the innumerable
ex-votos--hands, arms, legs, eyes, mouths, and hearts, all of
silver--the nose of King Sidoc, the breast of Queen Blandine, and the
head in solid gold of Saint Cromadaire, the first apostle of Vervignole,
and the blessed patron of Trinqueballe. They even carried off the
miraculous image of St. Gibbosine, whom the people of Vervignole had
never invoked in vain in time of pestilence, famine, or war. This very
ancient and venerable image was made of leaves of beaten gold nailed
upon a core of cedar-wood, and was covered with precious stones of the
bigness of ducks’ eggs, which emitted fiery rays of red, blue, yellow
and violet and white. For the past three hundred years her enamelled
eyes, wide open in her golden face, had compelled such respect from the
inhabitants of Trinqueballe that they saw her in their dreams, splendid
and terrible, threatening them with the direst penalties if they
failed to supply her with sufficient quantities of virgin- wax and
crown-pieces. St. Gibbosine groaned, trembled, and tottered on her
pedestal, and allowed herself to be carried away without resistance,
out of the basilica to which, from time immemorial, she had drawn
innumerable pilgrims.
After the departure of these sacrilegious thieves the holy Bishop
Nicolas ascended the steps of the despoiled altar, and consecrated the
blood of our Lord in an old silver chalice, of German origin, thin and
deeply dented. He prayed for the afflicted, and in particular for Robin,
whom, by the will of God, he had rescued from the salting-box.