CHAPTER V.

THE BISHOP'S VISIT.

WE found Sister Sacristine very busy with her silver, of which there was a great deal about the altar, and very glad of our offered help. We went zealously to work, dusting and rubbing up the altar furniture, not forgetting genuflections—curtsies—I should call them now every time we passed before the high altar.

The next day was some Saint's day; I forget whose at this distance of time, and Sister Sacristine, like a faithful woman that she was, was just as anxious to have everything in order as if we were expecting the presence of all the nobles in the country, instead of only a few poor peasants in the Church, and our little band of Mothers and sisters in the choir.

"There will not be many people here!" said the poor lady with a sigh as she settled her chairs. "Ah! Children, many a time have I seen this great church filled from end to end with ladies and gentlemen-I remember when poor Sister Augustine was professed, her father and mother came with a cavalcade, which almost filled the Church of itself; and they offered that pair of silver gilt vases on the Shrine of St. Anne. But times have changed since then, we shall have no one to-morrow."

"We shall have the great Guest of all, dear Sister!" said Amabel. "And where He is, we shall not miss any one else."

"That is true, my child, and yet—it is very hard to see the changes which have been wrought in this house by time and the malice of our enemies. But His will be done! There, children, I believe we have made the best of everything now."

"Sister, let me climb up the ladder, and brush up St. Francis and St. Bernard a little," said I, looking up to where St. Francis stood, with his hands upraised as if he were imploring some celestial power to come down and dust him.

"Well, if you are not afraid—I am too unsteady on my feet to venture upon the ladder any more; but there is a good place to stand, once you are up there."

I was as sure-footed as a goat, so I was not at all timid about ascending the ladder. St. Francis was placed on a little platform or balcony, where, as the Sister said, there was good standing room. Amabel steadied the long ladder, while I ascended, and then reached me up the duster and what else I wanted on the end of a long-handled brush, such as here we call a Pope's head—I would not like to be the one who called it so there. I was holding on to a kind of railing with one hand, and putting St. Francis hair to rights with the other, thinking to myself that the good saint looked as if he liked it, when the Church door opened, and who should come in, breathless as if from running, but Mother Prudentia.

"Sister, you are to come to Mother Superior's room at once, and you also, my children. Lose no time, but Lucille, be careful how you come down."

But I was already on the floor, and ready to follow Mother Prudentia, to the presence of the Superior. Here we found all the sisterhood assembled, and a scared bewildered looking set they were—our dear Mother was as calm as usual, though a pink spot shone on her usually pale cheeks, increasing the brilliancy of her always remarkable eyes. As soon as we were all assembled in order, she addressed us.

"My Mothers and Sisters and you, my children, I have just received by the hands of a special messenger, a letter from the Bishop of this Diocese, in which he tells me that he will arrive within an hour upon a special visitation, to enquire into certain alleged scandals and disorders prevailing in this community."

She paused a moment, and the sisters looked at her and at each other in utter amazement. Amabel gave my arm a little pinch and whispered very softly, "Desireè."

"I can safely say, that I know of nothing in my family which should bring such a charge upon us!" resumed the Superior. "But innocence is not always a protection from the hands of ungodly and cruel men; not that I would be understood, as applying such epithets to Mon seignor the Bishop. Doubtless he has been misinformed. What I would impress on you, my mothers and sisters, is that you should endeavor in this extremity, to preserve an equal and tranquil spirit, wholly resigned to the will of Heaven, whatever may happen. I will not disguise to you, my apprehensions that this visit may be the prelude to great changes—perhaps to grievous hardships and humiliations—possibly even to the breaking up of our little community, which has borne so many storms already. Be that as it may, our duty is plain. Let us set before us the example of the noble Mother Angelique, who, when calumniated and heaped with insults in the very house where she had ruled as Superior, bore all with patience, and never retorted on her persecutors by a look or a word, thus making her enemies ashamed of their cruel malignity. Above all, let us remember that our sufferings may be rendered an acceptable offering to God. My mothers and sisters, let us in the little time that remains, seek the protection of the Queen of Heaven!"

She dropped on her knees as she spoke, and all in the room followed her example. (Nuns have a peculiar sudden fashion of doing this, unattainable without practice. I don't believe I could do it myself now, without falling over on my nose.) It is very much to be hoped that the Blessed Mary does not know the way in which her name is treated in this world, and how to her are attributed the titles which belong only to her Son. But it was all right in my eyes at that time, and when I heard our Lord's mother addressed as the Morning Star, the Gate of Heaven, the Refuge of sinners, etc., I responded "Ora pro nobis" with undoubting faith.

We were still on our knees, when we heard the arrival of a numerous cavalcade before the house, and presently a loud knocking at the gate. Immediately the portress was sent to open it, and we all formed in procession as when we entered Church; the younger sisters at the head and the Superior last. On this occasion she led Amabel and myself by the hand.

Our parlor where the nuns received their guests was a large room sparely furnished with a few very hard chairs, and a most ghastly picture of the death of St. Francis. About one-third of this room was shut off by a grille or grate, as is usual in such places, and behind this was our station.

The outer room was occupied by the Bishop, and two or three attendant priests. Mon seignor was a short, stout man, with rather rebellious white hair, and an expression of a kind of pompous fussiness. He was speaking in a loud and somewhat angry tone to one of his attendants, and I caught the words—

"Intentional disrespect—make an example—perverse rebellious woman—" all of which seemed to come as it were from the depths of his stomach.

We entered slowly, the sisters taking their places with folded hands and down-cast eyes, with as little apparent trepidation as if about to assist at any ordinary ceremony. The Bishop turned sharply around, and spoke before the Abbess had time to advance to the grating.

"So madame! This is the way you receive your Bishop! Did I not send a messenger to acquaint you with my coming? Why then were you not here, prepared to receive me with due respect?"

"Mon seignor!" answered the Superior calmly. "It is not according to the rules of our house for us to await visitors in the parlor. I am bound by those rules, and if our Holy Father the Pope were to honor us with a visit, I would do no otherwise."

The Superior had the best of it, for a nun is bound to obey the "constitutions" of her house to the smallest article, as the Bishop knew very well. But of course, that did not make him feel any more amiable. He was evidently getting ready for a crushing reply, adjusting meantime his glasses on his nose, for he was very short-sighted; but he rather spoiled the effect by getting into difficulties with the string, which held them around his neck. At last however, the glasses were in their place, and he prepared to open his Episcopal batteries.

"Madame!" he began in the sternest tone—but there he stopped. He could now see Mother Superior's face, which I presume he was unable to do before. I never saw so sudden a change. His face seemed to soften and grow youthful in a moment; his lip quivered with a smile, which quite transformed him. He spoke in a very different tone from that in which he began.

"Madame! Is it possible, that I see before me Jacqueline de Rozier?"

It was now the turn of the Abbess to change color. She grew very white, but it was with a steady voice that she answered—"That was my name in the world, Mon seignor—and you?—"

"And I am Henri Garnier—" said the Bishop.

"They told me that you had died in the Indies, by the bite of a poisonous serpent," said the Superior, who had quite recovered her color. "I rejoice Mon seignor, to see you in life and health and filling such an exalted station."

Now at that time of my life I had so far as I know, never even seen the outside of a romance—or heard a love-story—yet I knew in a moment that the Superior and the Bishop had once been in love with each other. I ventured to glance at Mother Bursar, and saw those rebellious dimples of hers, dancing for a moment round the corners of her mouth, though she speedily reduced them to order.

"I was indeed bitten by a serpent in the Island of Martinique, and lay at the very point of death when my regiment sailed for France!" said the Bishop. "I recovered however at last, and by grace of Mary, was led to devote myself to a religious life as well as yourself. Madame, the Superior, and myself are cousins and were playmates in our childhood," he added, turning to his attendants—this time with real dignity of manner. "We have not met since we were both quite young. I rejoice to find her in such a useful and honorable position."

The priests made no answer, but I saw a sly glance of amusement pass between them.

"And now to business!" said the Bishop. "Madame, you have for some time had in your family a pupil and postulant named Desireè de La Mothe, daughter of the present Countess de Crequi by a former husband!"

"It is true, Mon seignor! The young lady in question was returned to her friends about two weeks since."

"And why was she so returned since you had received her as a postulant?"

"Because, Mon seignor, I did not perceive in her any true vocation for the religious life," answered the Superior.

"Then it was not for want of a satisfactory dowry, that she was refused!"

"Far from it, Mon seignor; we are a very poor community, but I can safely say that I would never refuse a postulant with a true vocation, though she came to me with nothing but the clothes she stood in. The Count de Crequi was so good as to offer me a double dowry, if I would consent to receive his step-daughter, but I need not say, I declined."

"And quite rightly!" answered the Bishop. "I wish all heads of religious houses were as disinterested as yourself. But the love of money, my brothers and sisters, is the root of all evil, as the Holy Apostle says. Let us be thankful that our state of life shelters us from its baleful influence. However, to return to the subject of this interview, which it is my painful duty to bring before you." Here he found his box, took a pinch of snuff, and thus fortified, made a fresh start.

"I will not, Reverend Mother, disguise from you the fact that this young lady, Desireè de La Mothe has plainly testified to the existence of certain very grave scandals under this roof; such as are not to be tolerated in any community, much less a religious one. These things having been brought to my ears by my relation by marriage to the Count de Crequi, it becomes my duty to thoroughly investigate them. I have no doubt that such an investigation will turn to your credit and that of your family—" here I saw the two priests again exchange looks—"but nevertheless it is, as you must see, my duty to make it."

"Assuredly, Mon seignor!" answered the Superior. "I have no other wish than to afford you every facility. How would your Greatness wish to proceed?"

"Oh! I suppose the proper way would be to examine each one of the family separately; which I will myself do with your permission. But these are not all!"

"All, Mon seignor! Save one!"

"And the lay sisters?"

"We have none, Mon seignor; our last lay sister died a year ago, at the age of eighty-nine. For a long time all the work of the house and garden has been performed by the choir sisters."

"This is indeed holy poverty!" said the Bishop, turning to his two attendants, who remarked in answer that it was very edifying, one of them adding it was to be hoped that the cares of this life had not distracted the sisters from their religious duties.

"I do not think such cares are apt to have that effect!" said the Bishop somewhat sharply. "How say you, Reverend Mother!"

"We have hitherto been enabled to keep up the practice of perpetual adoration of the holy sacrament," answered the Superior. "At no time since my entrance into the house, has it been suspended for a whole hour. The only sister now absent is at her post in the chapel; nor so far as I know have we failed in any of the other services of our holy religion. The heart of course is known only to God."

"And this is all that remains of the family once numbered by scores!" said the Bishop. "And who are these young ladies?" he asked turning to Amabel and myself, who were close to the grating at one end, as Mother Assistant was at the other.

"These are two young English girls!" was the reply. "Sir Julius Leighton, a Catholic gentleman of England, left them under my charge about thirteen years ago, and they have been with me ever since; but I am expecting to part with them very soon."

This explanation made, the sisterhood were directed to withdraw, while the Superior remained. The Sisters were then called in and examined one by one, returning with very pink faces, and very indignant.

"That wicked Desireè—that snake in the grass!" Such were some of the epithets bestowed upon her. "That she should dare to say that we received the visits of men! As if I ever spoke to a man save the Confessor and old Jacques the gardener, since I was first professed!" said Sister Filomena, bursting into a flood of tears as she rejoined us.

"Hush, my Sister! Compose yourself!" said the Mother Assistant kindly. N. B. * Sister Filomena was about the plainest woman I ever saw, with a moustache, and a perpetual red nose. If the Bishop had not been the Bishop, I should say he had been making game of the poor old soul. "Nobody who knows you can have any doubt of the propriety of your conduct. Come, let these children see you set an example of patience and calmness, and of forgiveness of injuries."

* N. B.—nota bene

"But that wicked girl—what could have induced her to slander us so!" said another sister. "To say that we used up our revenues in feasting."

"And that we—but there is no use in talking!" added Sister Benedict, catching the Mother's eye. "It is too abominable!"

At last it came to Amabel's turn and mine; and hand in hand, as usual, we entered the parlor.

The Bishop had evidently talked himself into high good humor by this time, for he was laughing and offering his snuff-box to his companions. "Ah! And here are the lambs of the flock!" said he, as we somewhat timidly drew near the grating. "Come near, my little daughters, and fear nothing."

He then asked us several questions in a fatherly sort of way, about our families, and we told him all we knew, which was not much.

"And how do you use your time? Come, now," addressing himself to me, "think, and tell me exactly what you were doing, when you were called to the Superior on this occasion."

"I was brushing St. Francis' hair, Mon seignor," I answered simply.

"Brushing St. Francis' hair? What does the child mean; one has heard of dressing St. Catherine's hair, but never of St. Francis', as I think." *

* "Dressing St. Catherine's hair" is a kind of proverbial expression for being an old maid.

I explained, that I was assisting Sister Sacristine to prepare the Church for to-morrow's feast day.

"Ah! Very well, very good—and you, my child?" turning to Amabel!

"I was arranging the flowers on the altar of our Lady, Mon seignor."

"Very good again—there, you may go, and here are some comfits for you, but I daresay you have enough of them since the good sisters make such beautiful sweetmeats, eh!"

"No! Mon seignor, the Mother Bursar sells all the sweetmeats, that she may help the poor women of the village," answered Amabel.

Whereas there was another interchange of looks, and we were permitted to retire, not at all sorry to get off so easily.

The Bishop and his attendant priests were then conducted by the Superior and Mother Assistant, through the whole building. It was even proposed that he should descend and examine the vaults; but this was hastily and decidedly declined, by his Grandeur.

"No! no! That is not needful—we have heard that they are very extensive and curious, however—perhaps Father Andre and his companions would like to inspect them."

"It would not be safe for them to do so without a guide!" said the Superior. "The passages are very intricate and there are dangerous pools of water, but should your Grandeur desire it, Mother Assistant and myself will lead the way."

But it was evident that this description was enough to satisfy any curiosity the Reverend Fathers might have felt on the subject, and as the Bishop did not insist on the matter, no more was said.

While this inspection had been going on, Sister Lazarus and her assistants had been getting up the best collation the resources of the house afforded. Fortunately it was a fast day, and our own ponds supplied us some good fish or the Bishop would have fared poorly. However, we had excellent bread and butter, and cakes and sweetmeats, and a bottle or two of good wine, and his lordship was pleased to express himself highly delighted with his entertainment.

After the collation, we were assembled in the Church, and the Bishop once more addressed us.

He did not disguise the fact that he had come hither with a strong prepossession against the house; having been led by certain persons to believe that the family were guilty of great irregularities, to say the least. He did not say who these persons were, but we knew very well. Contrary to what he expected, he had found great order, the severest poverty and self-denial, and evidence of abundant good works. He did not say those things to puff us up in our own esteem, but that we might be encouraged to persevere, and even to surpass what we had already accomplished. There existed indeed a degree of—he would not say error, much less heresy—but a certain confusion of ideas upon some points of doctrine, which he had no doubt would be dispelled by the perusal of some books which he would have sent to us. It was also said that there was a flaw in our title or charter; he would make it a point to have this matter examined into, and we might be assured that justice would be done.

He then gave us his blessing, exchanged a few words in private with Mother Superior, and rode away.

He was entertained by the Count that evening, and I should not wonder if madame and her daughter, did not find his visit very agreeable.

"Well, it has all turned out better than we had any reason to expect," remarked Mother Bursar.

"It has not turned out yet!" said Mother Prudentia, shaking her head. "We have made an enemy of the Count, and he will not love us the better, because the Bishop has come over to our side. The men of that family know neither pity nor forgiveness; we have not heard the last of it yet—but we are in better hands than his," she added cheerfully—"wicked men can go no farther than is permitted them."

Of course this visit of the Bishop's furnished matter for conversation and gossip for many days. Now that I look back at it, my own opinion is that we owed our escape to the circumstance, that the Bishop had discovered his old sweet-heart in our dear Mother Superior. Probably they had been separated by friends, and the lady had taken the veil on hearing her lover was dead; but that they had been lovers I am as sure, as I am that Simon Sablot is looking for Anne Penberthy. The lad is a good lad, and comes of good family, his parents having been exiles for the truth's sake, and he shall not want my good word when the time comes.

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