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FAUCHELEVENT IN THE PRESENCE OF A DIFFICULTY
It is the peculiarity of certain persons and certain professions,
notably priests and nuns, to wear a grave and agitated air on
critical occasions.
At the moment when Fauchelevent entered, this double form
of preoccupation was imprinted on the countenance of the prioress,
who was that wise and charming Mademoiselle de Blemeur, Mother
Innocente, who was ordinarily cheerful.
The gardener made a timid bow, and remained at the door of
the cell. The prioress, who was telling her beads, raised her
eyes and said:--
"Ah! it is you, Father Fauvent."
This abbreviation had been adopted in the convent.
Fauchelevent bowed again.
"Father Fauvent, I have sent for you."
"Here I am, reverend Mother."
"I have something to say to you."
"And so have I," said Fauchelevent with a boldness
which caused him inward terror, "I have something to say
to the very reverend Mother."
The prioress stared at him.
"Ah! you have a communication to make to me."
"A request."
"Very well, speak."
Goodman Fauchelevent, the ex-notary, belonged to the category
of peasants who have assurance.
A certain clever ignorance constitutes a force; you do not
distrust it, and you are caught by it. Fauchelevent had been a
success during the something more than two years which he had
passed in the convent.
Always solitary and busied about his gardening, he had nothing
else to do than to indulge his curiosity.
As he was at a distance from all those veiled women passing
to and fro, he saw before him only an agitation of shadows. By
dint of attention and sharpness he had succeeded in clothing all
those phantoms with flesh, and those corpses were alive for him.
He was like a deaf man whose sight grows keener, and like a blind
man whose hearing becomes more acute.
He had applied himself to riddling out the significance of
the different peals, and he had succeeded, so that this taciturn
and enigmatical cloister possessed no secrets for him; the sphinx
babbled all her secrets in his ear. Fauchelevent knew all and
concealed all; that constituted his art. The whole convent thought
him stupid.
A great merit in religion. The vocal mothers made much of
Fauchelevent.
He was a curious mute. He inspired confidence.
Moreover, he was regular, and never went out except for well-demonstrated
requirements of the orchard and vegetable garden.
This discretion of conduct had inured to his credit. None
the less, he had set two men to chattering:
the porter, in the convent, and he knew the singularities
of their parlor, and the grave-digger, at the cemetery, and he
was acquainted with the peculiarities of their sepulture; in this
way, he possessed a double light on the subject of these nuns,
one as to their life, the other as to their death.
But he did not abuse his knowledge. The congregation thought
a great deal of him.
Old, lame, blind to everything, probably a little deaf into
the bargain,--what qualities! They would have found it difficult
to replace him.
The goodman, with the assurance of a person who feels that
he is appreciated, entered into a rather diffuse and very deep
rustic harangue to the reverend prioress.
He talked a long time about his age, his infirmities, the
surcharge of years counting double for him henceforth, of the
increasing demands of his work, of the great size of the garden,
of nights which must be passed, like the last, for instance, when
he had been obliged to put straw mats over the melon beds, because
of the moon, and he wound up as follows: "That he had a brother"--(the
prioress made a movement),--"a brother no longer young"--(a
second movement on the part of the prioress, but one expressive
of reassurance),--"that, if he might be permitted, this brother
would come and live with him and help him, that he was an excellent
gardener, that the community would receive from him good service,
better than his own; that, otherwise, if his brother were not
admitted, as he, the elder, felt that his health was broken and
that he was insufficient for the work, he should be obliged, greatly
to his regret, to go away; and that his brother had a little daughter
whom he would bring with him, who might be reared for God in the
house, and who might, who knows, become a nun some day."
When he had finished speaking, the prioress stayed the slipping
of her rosary between her fingers, and said to him:--
"Could you procure a stout iron bar between now and this
evening?"
"For what purpose?"
"To serve as a lever."
"Yes, reverend Mother," replied Fauchelevent.
The prioress, without adding a word, rose and entered the
adjoining room, which was the hall of the chapter, and where the
vocal mothers were probably assembled.
Fauchelevent was left alone.
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