Bab Bab 141 · MOTHER INNOCENTE

About a quarter of an hour elapsed. The prioress returned and seated

herself once more on her chair.

The two interlocutors seemed preoccupied. We will present a

stenographic report of the dialogue which then ensued, to the best of

our ability.

“Father Fauvent!”

“Reverend Mother!”

“Do you know the chapel?”

“I have a little cage there, where I hear the mass and the offices.”

“And you have been in the choir in pursuance of your duties?”

“Two or three times.”

“There is a stone to be raised.”

“Heavy?”

“The slab of the pavement which is at the side of the altar.”

“The slab which closes the vault?”

“Yes.”

“It would be a good thing to have two men for it.”

“Mother Ascension, who is as strong as a man, will help you.”

“A woman is never a man.”

“We have only a woman here to help you. Each one does what he can.

Because Dom Mabillon gives four hundred and seventeen epistles of Saint

Bernard, while Merlonus Horstius only gives three hundred and

sixty-seven, I do not despise Merlonus Horstius.”

“Neither do I.”

“Merit consists in working according to one’s strength. A cloister is

not a dock-yard.”

“And a woman is not a man. But my brother is the strong one, though!”

“And can you get a lever?”

“That is the only sort of key that fits that sort of door.”

“There is a ring in the stone.”

“I will put the lever through it.”

“And the stone is so arranged that it swings on a pivot.”

“That is good, reverend Mother. I will open the vault.”

“And the four Mother Precentors will help you.”

“And when the vault is open?”

“It must be closed again.”

“Will that be all?”

“No.”

“Give me your orders, very reverend Mother.”

“Fauvent, we have confidence in you.”

“I am here to do anything you wish.”

“And to hold your peace about everything!”

“Yes, reverend Mother.”

“When the vault is open—”

“I will close it again.”

“But before that—”

“What, reverend Mother?”

“Something must be lowered into it.”

A silence ensued. The prioress, after a pout of the under lip which

resembled hesitation, broke it.

“Father Fauvent!”

“Reverend Mother!”

“You know that a mother died this morning?”

“No.”

“Did you not hear the bell?”

“Nothing can be heard at the bottom of the garden.”

“Really?”

“I can hardly distinguish my own signal.”

“She died at daybreak.”

“And then, the wind did not blow in my direction this morning.”

“It was Mother Crucifixion. A blessed woman.”

The prioress paused, moved her lips, as though in mental prayer, and

resumed:—

“Three years ago, Madame de Béthune, a Jansenist, turned orthodox,

merely from having seen Mother Crucifixion at prayer.”

“Ah! yes, now I hear the knell, reverend Mother.”

“The mothers have taken her to the dead-room, which opens on the

church.”

“I know.”

“No other man than you can or must enter that chamber. See to that. A

fine sight it would be, to see a man enter the dead-room!”

“More often!”

“Hey?”

“More often!”

“What do you say?”

“I say more often.”

“More often than what?”

“Reverend Mother, I did not say more often than what, I said more

often.”

“I don’t understand you. Why do you say more often?”

“In order to speak like you, reverend Mother.”

“But I did not say ‘more often.’”

At that moment, nine o’clock struck.

“At nine o’clock in the morning and at all hours, praised and adored be

the most Holy Sacrament of the altar,” said the prioress.

“Amen,” said Fauchelevent.

The clock struck opportunely. It cut “more often” short. It is

probable, that had it not been for this, the prioress and Fauchelevent

would never have unravelled that skein.

Fauchelevent mopped his forehead.

The prioress indulged in another little inward murmur, probably sacred,

then raised her voice:—

“In her lifetime, Mother Crucifixion made converts; after her death,

she will perform miracles.”

“She will!” replied Father Fauchelevent, falling into step, and

striving not to flinch again.

“Father Fauvent, the community has been blessed in Mother Crucifixion.

No doubt, it is not granted to every one to die, like Cardinal de

Bérulle, while saying the holy mass, and to breathe forth their souls

to God, while pronouncing these words: _Hanc igitur oblationem_. But

without attaining to such happiness, Mother Crucifixion’s death was

very precious. She retained her consciousness to the very last moment.

She spoke to us, then she spoke to the angels. She gave us her last

commands. If you had a little more faith, and if you could have been in

her cell, she would have cured your leg merely by touching it. She

smiled. We felt that she was regaining her life in God. There was

something of paradise in that death.”

Fauchelevent thought that it was an orison which she was finishing.

“Amen,” said he.

“Father Fauvent, what the dead wish must be done.”

The prioress took off several beads of her chaplet. Fauchelevent held

his peace.

She went on:—

“I have consulted upon this point many ecclesiastics laboring in Our

Lord, who occupy themselves in the exercises of the clerical life, and

who bear wonderful fruit.”

“Reverend Mother, you can hear the knell much better here than in the

garden.”

“Besides, she is more than a dead woman, she is a saint.”

“Like yourself, reverend Mother.”

“She slept in her coffin for twenty years, by express permission of our

Holy Father, Pius VII.—”

“The one who crowned the Emp—Buonaparte.”

For a clever man like Fauchelevent, this allusion was an awkward one.

Fortunately, the prioress, completely absorbed in her own thoughts, did

not hear it. She continued:—

“Father Fauvent?”

“Reverend Mother?”

“Saint Didorus, Archbishop of Cappadocia, desired that this single word

might be inscribed on his tomb: _Acarus_, which signifies, a worm of

the earth; this was done. Is this true?”

“Yes, reverend Mother.”

“The blessed Mezzocane, Abbot of Aquila, wished to be buried beneath

the gallows; this was done.”

“That is true.”

“Saint Terentius, Bishop of Port, where the mouth of the Tiber empties

into the sea, requested that on his tomb might be engraved the sign

which was placed on the graves of parricides, in the hope that

passers-by would spit on his tomb. This was done. The dead must be

obeyed.”

“So be it.”

“The body of Bernard Guidonis, born in France near Roche-Abeille, was,

as he had ordered, and in spite of the king of Castile, borne to the

church of the Dominicans in Limoges, although Bernard Guidonis was

Bishop of Tuy in Spain. Can the contrary be affirmed?”

“For that matter, no, reverend Mother.”

“The fact is attested by Plantavit de la Fosse.”

Several beads of the chaplet were told off, still in silence. The

prioress resumed:—

“Father Fauvent, Mother Crucifixion will be interred in the coffin in

which she has slept for the last twenty years.”

“That is just.”

“It is a continuation of her slumber.”

“So I shall have to nail up that coffin?”

“Yes.”

“And we are to reject the undertaker’s coffin?”

“Precisely.”

“I am at the orders of the very reverend community.”

“The four Mother Precentors will assist you.”

“In nailing up the coffin? I do not need them.”

“No. In lowering the coffin.”

“Where?”

“Into the vault.”

“What vault?”

“Under the altar.”

Fauchelevent started.

“The vault under the altar?”

“Under the altar.”

“But—”

“You will have an iron bar.”

“Yes, but—”

“You will raise the stone with the bar by means of the ring.”

“But—”

“The dead must be obeyed. To be buried in the vault under the altar of

the chapel, not to go to profane earth; to remain there in death where

she prayed while living; such was the last wish of Mother Crucifixion.

She asked it of us; that is to say, commanded us.”

“But it is forbidden.”

“Forbidden by men, enjoined by God.”

“What if it became known?”

“We have confidence in you.”

“Oh! I am a stone in your walls.”

“The chapter assembled. The vocal mothers, whom I have just consulted

again, and who are now deliberating, have decided that Mother

Crucifixion shall be buried, according to her wish, in her own coffin,

under our altar. Think, Father Fauvent, if she were to work miracles

here! What a glory of God for the community! And miracles issue from

tombs.”

“But, reverend Mother, if the agent of the sanitary commission—”

“Saint Benoît II., in the matter of sepulture, resisted Constantine

Pogonatus.”

“But the commissary of police—”

“Chonodemaire, one of the seven German kings who entered among the

Gauls under the Empire of Constantius, expressly recognized the right

of nuns to be buried in religion, that is to say, beneath the altar.”

“But the inspector from the Prefecture—”

“The world is nothing in the presence of the cross. Martin, the

eleventh general of the Carthusians, gave to his order this device:

_Stat crux dum volvitur orbis_.”

“Amen,” said Fauchelevent, who imperturbably extricated himself in this

manner from the dilemma, whenever he heard Latin.

Any audience suffices for a person who has held his peace too long. On

the day when the rhetorician Gymnastoras left his prison, bearing in

his body many dilemmas and numerous syllogisms which had struck in, he

halted in front of the first tree which he came to, harangued it and

made very great efforts to convince it. The prioress, who was usually

subjected to the barrier of silence, and whose reservoir was overfull,

rose and exclaimed with the loquacity of a dam which has broken away:—

“I have on my right Benoît and on my left Bernard. Who was Bernard? The

first abbot of Clairvaux. Fontaines in Burgundy is a country that is

blest because it gave him birth. His father was named Técelin, and his

mother Alèthe. He began at Cîteaux, to end in Clairvaux; he was

ordained abbot by the bishop of Châlon-sur-Saône, Guillaume de

Champeaux; he had seven hundred novices, and founded a hundred and

sixty monasteries; he overthrew Abeilard at the council of Sens in

1140, and Pierre de Bruys and Henry his disciple, and another sort of

erring spirits who were called the Apostolics; he confounded Arnauld de

Brescia, darted lightning at the monk Raoul, the murderer of the Jews,

dominated the council of Reims in 1148, caused the condemnation of

Gilbert de Poréa, Bishop of Poitiers, caused the condemnation of Éon de

l’Étoile, arranged the disputes of princes, enlightened King Louis the

Young, advised Pope Eugene III., regulated the Temple, preached the

crusade, performed two hundred and fifty miracles during his lifetime,

and as many as thirty-nine in one day. Who was Benoît? He was the

patriarch of Mont-Cassin; he was the second founder of the Sainteté

Claustrale, he was the Basil of the West. His order has produced forty

popes, two hundred cardinals, fifty patriarchs, sixteen hundred

archbishops, four thousand six hundred bishops, four emperors, twelve

empresses, forty-six kings, forty-one queens, three thousand six

hundred canonized saints, and has been in existence for fourteen

hundred years. On one side Saint Bernard, on the other the agent of the

sanitary department! On one side Saint Benoît, on the other the

inspector of public ways! The state, the road commissioners, the public

undertaker, regulations, the administration, what do we know of all

that? There is not a chance passer-by who would not be indignant to see

how we are treated. We have not even the right to give our dust to

Jesus Christ! Your sanitary department is a revolutionary invention.

God subordinated to the commissary of police; such is the age. Silence,

Fauvent!”

Fauchelevent was but ill at ease under this shower bath. The prioress

continued:—

“No one doubts the right of the monastery to sepulture. Only fanatics

and those in error deny it. We live in times of terrible confusion. We

do not know that which it is necessary to know, and we know that which

we should ignore. We are ignorant and impious. In this age there exist

people who do not distinguish between the very great Saint Bernard and

the Saint Bernard denominated of the poor Catholics, a certain good

ecclesiastic who lived in the thirteenth century. Others are so

blasphemous as to compare the scaffold of Louis XVI. to the cross of

Jesus Christ. Louis XVI. was merely a king. Let us beware of God! There

is no longer just nor unjust. The name of Voltaire is known, but not

the name of César de Bus. Nevertheless, César de Bus is a man of

blessed memory, and Voltaire one of unblessed memory. The last

arch-bishop, the Cardinal de Périgord, did not even know that Charles

de Gondren succeeded to Berulle, and François Bourgoin to Gondren, and

Jean-François Senault to Bourgoin, and Father Sainte-Marthe to

Jean-François Senault. The name of Father Coton is known, not because

he was one of the three who urged the foundation of the Oratorie, but

because he furnished Henri IV., the Huguenot king, with the material

for an oath. That which pleases people of the world in Saint François

de Sales, is that he cheated at play. And then, religion is attacked.

Why? Because there have been bad priests, because Sagittaire, Bishop of

Gap, was the brother of Salone, Bishop of Embrun, and because both of

them followed Mommol. What has that to do with the question? Does that

prevent Martin de Tours from being a saint, and giving half of his

cloak to a beggar? They persecute the saints. They shut their eyes to

the truth. Darkness is the rule. The most ferocious beasts are beasts

which are blind. No one thinks of hell as a reality. Oh! how wicked

people are! By order of the king signifies to-day, by order of the

revolution. One no longer knows what is due to the living or to the

dead. A holy death is prohibited. Burial is a civil matter. This is

horrible. Saint Leo II. wrote two special letters, one to Pierre

Notaire, the other to the king of the Visigoths, for the purpose of

combating and rejecting, in questions touching the dead, the authority

of the exarch and the supremacy of the Emperor. Gauthier, Bishop of

Châlons, held his own in this matter against Otho, Duke of Burgundy.

The ancient magistracy agreed with him. In former times we had voices

in the chapter, even on matters of the day. The Abbot of Cîteaux, the

general of the order, was councillor by right of birth to the

parliament of Burgundy. We do what we please with our dead. Is not the

body of Saint Benoît himself in France, in the abbey of Fleury, called

Saint Benoît-sur-Loire, although he died in Italy at Mont-Cassin, on

Saturday, the 21st of the month of March, of the year 543? All this is

incontestable. I abhor psalm-singers, I hate priors, I execrate

heretics, but I should detest yet more any one who should maintain the

contrary. One has only to read Arnoul Wion, Gabriel Bucelin, Trithemus,

Maurolics, and Dom Luc d’Achery.”

The prioress took breath, then turned to Fauchelevent.

“Is it settled, Father Fauvent?”

“It is settled, reverend Mother.”

“We may depend on you?”

“I will obey.”

“That is well.”

“I am entirely devoted to the convent.”

“That is understood. You will close the coffin. The sisters will carry

it to the chapel. The office for the dead will then be said. Then we

shall return to the cloister. Between eleven o’clock and midnight, you

will come with your iron bar. All will be done in the most profound

secrecy. There will be in the chapel only the four Mother Precentors,

Mother Ascension and yourself.”

“And the sister at the post?”

“She will not turn round.”

“But she will hear.”

“She will not listen. Besides, what the cloister knows the world learns

not.”

A pause ensued. The prioress went on:—

“You will remove your bell. It is not necessary that the sister at the

post should perceive your presence.”

“Reverend Mother?”

“What, Father Fauvent?”

“Has the doctor for the dead paid his visit?”

“He will pay it at four o’clock to-day. The peal which orders the

doctor for the dead to be summoned has already been rung. But you do

not understand any of the peals?”

“I pay no attention to any but my own.”

“That is well, Father Fauvent.”

“Reverend Mother, a lever at least six feet long will be required.”

“Where will you obtain it?”

“Where gratings are not lacking, iron bars are not lacking. I have my

heap of old iron at the bottom of the garden.”

“About three-quarters of an hour before midnight; do not forget.”

“Reverend Mother?”

“What?”

“If you were ever to have any other jobs of this sort, my brother is

the strong man for you. A perfect Turk!”

“You will do it as speedily as possible.”

“I cannot work very fast. I am infirm; that is why I require an

assistant. I limp.”

“To limp is no sin, and perhaps it is a blessing. The Emperor Henry

II., who combated Antipope Gregory and re-established Benoît VIII., has

two surnames, the Saint and the Lame.”

“Two surtouts are a good thing,” murmured Fauchelevent, who really was

a little hard of hearing.

“Now that I think of it, Father Fauvent, let us give a whole hour to

it. That is not too much. Be near the principal altar, with your iron

bar, at eleven o’clock. The office begins at midnight. Everything must

have been completed a good quarter of an hour before that.”

“I will do anything to prove my zeal towards the community. These are

my orders. I am to nail up the coffin. At eleven o’clock exactly, I am

to be in the chapel. The Mother Precentors will be there. Mother

Ascension will be there. Two men would be better. However, never mind!

I shall have my lever. We will open the vault, we will lower the

coffin, and we will close the vault again. After which, there will be

no trace of anything. The government will have no suspicion. Thus all

has been arranged, reverend Mother?”

“No!”

“What else remains?”

“The empty coffin remains.”

This produced a pause. Fauchelevent meditated. The prioress meditated.

“What is to be done with that coffin, Father Fauvent?”

“It will be given to the earth.”

“Empty?”

Another silence. Fauchelevent made, with his left hand, that sort of a

gesture which dismisses a troublesome subject.

“Reverend Mother, I am the one who is to nail up the coffin in the

basement of the church, and no one can enter there but myself, and I

will cover the coffin with the pall.”

“Yes, but the bearers, when they place it in the hearse and lower it

into the grave, will be sure to feel that there is nothing in it.”

“Ah! the de—!” exclaimed Fauchelevent.

The prioress began to make the sign of the cross, and looked fixedly at

the gardener. The _vil_ stuck fast in his throat.

He made haste to improvise an expedient to make her forget the oath.

“I will put earth in the coffin, reverend Mother. That will produce the

effect of a corpse.”

“You are right. Earth, that is the same thing as man. So you will

manage the empty coffin?”

“I will make that my special business.”

The prioress’s face, up to that moment troubled and clouded, grew

serene once more. She made the sign of a superior dismissing an

inferior to him. Fauchelevent went towards the door. As he was on the

point of passing out, the prioress raised her voice gently:—

“I am pleased with you, Father Fauvent; bring your brother to me

to-morrow, after the burial, and tell him to fetch his daughter.”