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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 chateau 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-Etienne-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.
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