| CRAVATTE
It is here that a fact falls naturally into place, which
we must not omit, because it is one of the sort which show us
best what sort of a man the Bishop of D---- was.
After the destruction of the band of Gaspard Bes, who had
infested the gorges of Ollioules, one of his lieutenants, Cravatte,
took refuge in the mountains.
He concealed himself for some time with his bandits, the remnant
of Gaspard Bes's troop, in the county of Nice; then he made his
way to Piedmont, and suddenly reappeared in France, in the vicinity
of Barcelonette.
He was first seen at Jauziers, then at Tuiles.
He hid himself in the caverns of the Joug-de-l'Aigle, and
thence he descended towards the hamlets and villages through the
ravines of Ubaye and Ubayette.
He even pushed as far as Embrun, entered the cathedral one
night, and despoiled the sacristy.
His highway robberies laid waste the country-side. The gendarmes
were set on his track, but in vain. He always escaped; sometimes
he resisted by main force.
He was a bold wretch.
In the midst of all this terror the Bishop arrived. He was
making his circuit to Chastelar.
The mayor came to meet him, and urged him to retrace his steps.
Cravatte was in possession of the mountains as far as Arche,
and beyond; there was danger even with an escort; it merely exposed
three or four unfortunate gendarmes to no purpose.
"Therefore," said the Bishop, "I intend to
go without escort."
"You do not really mean that, Monseigneur!" exclaimed
the mayor.
"I do mean it so thoroughly that I absolutely refuse
any gendarmes, and shall set out in an hour."
"Set out?"
"Set out."
"Alone?"
"Alone."
"Monseigneur, you will not do that!"
"There exists yonder in the mountains," said the
Bishop, a tiny community no bigger than that, which I have not
seen for three years. They are my good friends, those gentle and
honest shepherds.
They own one goat out of every thirty that they tend.
They make very pretty woollen cords of various colors, and
they play the mountain airs on little flutes with six holes.
They need to be told of the good God now and then.
What would they say to a bishop who was afraid? What would
they say if I did not go?"
"But the brigands, Monseigneur?"
"Hold," said the Bishop, "I must think of that.
You are right. I may meet them.
They, too, need to be told of the good God."
"But, Monseigneur, there is a band of them!
A flock of wolves!"
"Monsieur le maire, it may be that it is of this very
flock of wolves that Jesus has constituted me the shepherd.
Who knows the ways of Providence?"
"They will rob you, Monseigneur."
"I have nothing."
"They will kill you."
"An old goodman of a priest, who passes along mumbling
his prayers? Bah!
To what purpose?"
"Oh, mon Dieu! what if you should meet them!"
"I should beg alms of them for my poor."
"Do not go, Monseigneur.
In the name of Heaven!
You are risking your life!"
"Monsieur le maire," said the Bishop, "is that
really all? I am not in the world to guard my own life, but to
guard souls."
They had to allow him to do as he pleased.
He set out, accompanied only by a child who offered to serve
as a guide.
His obstinacy was bruited about the country-side, and caused
great consternation.
He would take neither his sister nor Madame Magloire.
He traversed the mountain on mule-back, encountered no one,
and arrived safe and sound at the residence of his "good
friends," the shepherds. He remained there for a fortnight,
preaching, administering the sacrament, teaching, exhorting.
When the time of his departure approached, he resolved to
chant a Te Deum pontifically.
He mentioned it to the cure.
But what was to be done?
There were no episcopal ornaments. They could only place at
his disposal a wretched village sacristy, with a few ancient chasubles
of threadbare damask adorned with imitation lace.
"Bah!" said the Bishop.
"Let us announce our Te Deum from the pulpit, nevertheless,
Monsieur le Cure.
Things will arrange themselves."
They instituted a search in the churches of the neighborhood.
All the magnificence of these humble parishes combined would not
have sufficed to clothe the chorister of a cathedral properly.
While they were thus embarrassed, a large chest was brought
and deposited in the presbytery for the Bishop, by two unknown
horsemen, who departed on the instant.
The chest was opened; it contained a cope of cloth of gold,
a mitre ornamented with diamonds, an archbishop's cross, a magnificent
crosier,--all the pontifical vestments which had been stolen a
month previously from the treasury of Notre Dame d'Embrun. In
the chest was a paper, on which these words were written, "From
Cravatte to Monseigneur Bienvenu."
"Did not I say that things would come right of themselves?"
said the Bishop.
Then he added, with a smile, "To him who contents himself
with the surplice of a curate, God sends the cope of an archbishop."
"Monseigneur," murmured the cure, throwing back
his head with a smile. "God--or the Devil."
The Bishop looked steadily at the cure, and repeated with
authority, "God!"
When he returned to Chastelar, the people came out to stare
at him as at a curiosity, all along the road.
At the priest's house in Chastelar he rejoined Mademoiselle
Baptistine and Madame Magloire, who were waiting for him, and
he said to his sister:
"Well! was I in the right?
The poor priest went to his poor mountaineers with empty hands,
and he returns from them with his hands full. I set out bearing
only my faith in God; I have brought back the treasure of a cathedral."
That evening, before he went to bed, he said again:
"Let us never fear robbers nor murderers.
Those are dangers from without, petty dangers.
Let us fear ourselves.
Prejudices are the real robbers; vices are the real murderers.
The great dangers lie within ourselves. What matters it what
threatens our head or our purse!
Let us think only of that which threatens our soul."
Then, turning to his sister:
"Sister, never a precaution on the part of the priest,
against his fellow-man. That which his fellow does, God permits.
Let us confine ourselves to prayer, when we think that a danger
is approaching us.
Let us pray, not for ourselves, but that our brother may not
fall into sin on our account."
However, such incidents were rare in his life.
We relate those of which we know; but generally he passed
his life in doing the same things at the same moment.
One month of his year resembled one hour of his day.
As to what became of "the treasure" of the cathedral
of Embrun, we should be embarrassed by any inquiry in that direction.
It consisted of very handsome things, very tempting things, and
things which were very well adapted to be stolen for the benefit
of the unfortunate.
Stolen they had already been elsewhere. Half of the adventure
was completed; it only remained to impart a new direction to the
theft, and to cause it to take a short trip in the direction of
the poor.
However, we make no assertions on this point.
Only, a rather obscure note was found among the Bishop's papers,
which may bear some relation to this matter, and which is couched
in these terms, "The question is, to decide whether this
should be turned over to the cathedral or to the hospital."
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