第 十 章 · THE BROTHER AS DEPICTED BY THE SISTER

In order to furnish an idea of the private establishment of the Bishop

of D——, and of the manner in which those two sainted women subordinated

their actions, their thoughts, their feminine instincts even, which are

easily alarmed, to the habits and purposes of the Bishop, without his

even taking the trouble of speaking in order to explain them, we cannot

do better than transcribe in this place a letter from Mademoiselle

Baptistine to Madame the Vicomtess de Boischevron, the friend of her

childhood. This letter is in our possession.

D——, Dec. 16, 18—. MY GOOD MADAM: Not a day passes without our speaking

of you. It is our established custom; but there is another reason

besides. Just imagine, while washing and dusting the ceilings and

walls, Madam Magloire has made some discoveries; now our two chambers

hung with antique paper whitewashed over, would not discredit a château

in the style of yours. Madam Magloire has pulled off all the paper.

There were things beneath. My drawing-room, which contains no

furniture, and which we use for spreading out the linen after washing,

is fifteen feet in height, eighteen square, with a ceiling which was

formerly painted and gilded, and with beams, as in yours. This was

covered with a cloth while this was the hospital. And the woodwork was

of the era of our grandmothers. But my room is the one you ought to

see. Madam Magloire has discovered, under at least ten thicknesses of

paper pasted on top, some paintings, which without being good are very

tolerable. The subject is Telemachus being knighted by Minerva in some

gardens, the name of which escapes me. In short, where the Roman ladies

repaired on one single night. What shall I say to you? I have Romans,

and Roman ladies [here occurs an illegible word], and the whole train.

Madam Magloire has cleaned it all off; this summer she is going to have

some small injuries repaired, and the whole revarnished, and my chamber

will be a regular museum. She has also found in a corner of the attic

two wooden pier-tables of ancient fashion. They asked us two crowns of

six francs each to regild them, but it is much better to give the money

to the poor; and they are very ugly besides, and I should much prefer a

round table of mahogany.

I am always very happy. My brother is so good. He gives all he has to

the poor and sick. We are very much cramped. The country is trying in

the winter, and we really must do something for those who are in need.

We are almost comfortably lighted and warmed. You see that these are

great treats.

My brother has ways of his own. When he talks, he says that a bishop

ought to be so. Just imagine! the door of our house is never fastened.

Whoever chooses to enter finds himself at once in my brother’s room. He

fears nothing, even at night. That is his sort of bravery, he says.

He does not wish me or Madame Magloire feel any fear for him. He

exposes himself to all sorts of dangers, and he does not like to have

us even seem to notice it. One must know how to understand him.

He goes out in the rain, he walks in the water, he travels in winter.

He fears neither suspicious roads nor dangerous encounters, nor night.

Last year he went quite alone into a country of robbers. He would not

take us. He was absent for a fortnight. On his return nothing had

happened to him; he was thought to be dead, but was perfectly well, and

said, “This is the way I have been robbed!” And then he opened a trunk

full of jewels, all the jewels of the cathedral of Embrun, which the

thieves had given him.

When he returned on that occasion, I could not refrain from scolding

him a little, taking care, however, not to speak except when the

carriage was making a noise, so that no one might hear me.

At first I used to say to myself, “There are no dangers which will stop

him; he is terrible.” Now I have ended by getting used to it. I make a

sign to Madam Magloire that she is not to oppose him. He risks himself

as he sees fit. I carry off Madam Magloire, I enter my chamber, I pray

for him and fall asleep. I am at ease, because I know that if anything

were to happen to him, it would be the end of me. I should go to the

good God with my brother and my bishop. It has cost Madam Magloire more

trouble than it did me to accustom herself to what she terms his

imprudences. But now the habit has been acquired. We pray together, we

tremble together, and we fall asleep. If the devil were to enter this

house, he would be allowed to do so. After all, what is there for us to

fear in this house? There is always some one with us who is stronger

than we. The devil may pass through it, but the good God dwells here.

This suffices me. My brother has no longer any need of saying a word to

me. I understand him without his speaking, and we abandon ourselves to

the care of Providence. That is the way one has to do with a man who

possesses grandeur of soul.

I have interrogated my brother with regard to the information which you

desire on the subject of the Faux family. You are aware that he knows

everything, and that he has memories, because he is still a very good

royalist. They really are a very ancient Norman family of the

generalship of Caen. Five hundred years ago there was a Raoul de Faux,

a Jean de Faux, and a Thomas de Faux, who were gentlemen, and one of

whom was a seigneur de Rochefort. The last was Guy-Étienne-Alexandre,

and was commander of a regiment, and something in the light horse of

Bretagne. His daughter, Marie-Louise, married Adrien-Charles de

Gramont, son of the Duke Louis de Gramont, peer of France, colonel of

the French guards, and lieutenant-general of the army. It is written

Faux, Fauq, and Faoucq.

Good Madame, recommend us to the prayers of your sainted relative,

Monsieur the Cardinal. As for your dear Sylvanie, she has done well in

not wasting the few moments which she passes with you in writing to me.

She is well, works as you would wish, and loves me.

That is all that I desire. The souvenir which she sent through you

reached me safely, and it makes me very happy. My health is not so very

bad, and yet I grow thinner every day. Farewell; my paper is at an end,

and this forces me to leave you. A thousand good wishes.

BAPTISTINE.

P.S. Your grand nephew is charming. Do you know that he will soon be

five years old? Yesterday he saw some one riding by on horseback who

had on knee-caps, and he said, “What has he got on his knees?” He is a

charming child! His little brother is dragging an old broom about the

room, like a carriage, and saying, “Hu!”

As will be perceived from this letter, these two women understood how

to mould themselves to the Bishop’s ways with that special feminine

genius which comprehends the man better than he comprehends himself.

The Bishop of D——, in spite of the gentle and candid air which never

deserted him, sometimes did things that were grand, bold, and

magnificent, without seeming to have even a suspicion of the fact. They

trembled, but they let him alone. Sometimes Madame Magloire essayed a

remonstrance in advance, but never at the time, nor afterwards. They

never interfered with him by so much as a word or sign, in any action

once entered upon. At certain moments, without his having occasion to

mention it, when he was not even conscious of it himself in all

probability, so perfect was his simplicity, they vaguely felt that he

was acting as a bishop; then they were nothing more than two shadows in

the house. They served him passively; and if obedience consisted in

disappearing, they disappeared. They understood, with an admirable

delicacy of instinct, that certain cares may be put under constraint.

Thus, even when believing him to be in peril, they understood, I will

not say his thought, but his nature, to such a degree that they no

longer watched over him. They confided him to God.

Moreover, Baptistine said, as we have just read, that her brother’s end

would prove her own. Madame Magloire did not say this, but she knew it.