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CHAPTER II—PRUDENCE COUNSELLED TO WISDOM.
That evening, the Bishop of D——, after his promenade through
the town, remained shut up rather late in his room. He was busy over a
great work on Duties, which was never completed, unfortunately. He was
carefully compiling everything that the Fathers and the doctors have said
on this important subject. His book was divided into two parts: firstly,
the duties of all; secondly, the duties of each individual, according to
the class to which he belongs. The duties of all are the great duties.
There are four of these. Saint Matthew points them out: duties towards God
(Matt. vi.); duties towards one's self (Matt. v. 29, 30); duties towards
one's neighbor (Matt. vii. 12); duties towards animals (Matt. vi. 20, 25).
As for the other duties the Bishop found them pointed out and prescribed
elsewhere: to sovereigns and subjects, in the Epistle to the Romans; to
magistrates, to wives, to mothers, to young men, by Saint Peter; to
husbands, fathers, children and servants, in the Epistle to the Ephesians;
to the faithful, in the Epistle to the Hebrews; to virgins, in the Epistle
to the Corinthians. Out of these precepts he was laboriously constructing
a harmonious whole, which he desired to present to souls.
At eight o'clock he was still at work, writing with a good deal of
inconvenience upon little squares of paper, with a big book open on his
knees, when Madame Magloire entered, according to her wont, to get the
silver-ware from the cupboard near his bed. A moment later, the Bishop,
knowing that the table was set, and that his sister was probably waiting
for him, shut his book, rose from his table, and entered the dining-room.
The dining-room was an oblong apartment, with a fireplace, which had a
door opening on the street (as we have said), and a window opening on the
Madame Magloire was, in fact, just putting the last touches to the table.
As she performed this service, she was conversing with Mademoiselle
A lamp stood on the table; the table was near the fireplace. A wood fire
was burning there.
One can easily picture to one's self these two women, both of whom were
over sixty years of age. Madame Magloire small, plump, vivacious;
Mademoiselle Baptistine gentle, slender, frail, somewhat taller than her
brother, dressed in a gown of puce-colored silk, of the fashion of 1806,
which she had purchased at that date in Paris, and which had lasted ever
since. To borrow vulgar phrases, which possess the merit of giving
utterance in a single word to an idea which a whole page would hardly
suffice to express, Madame Magloire had the air of a peasant, and
Mademoiselle Baptistine that of a lady. Madame Magloire wore a white
quilted cap, a gold Jeannette cross on a velvet ribbon upon her neck, the
only bit of feminine jewelry that there was in the house, a very white
fichu puffing out from a gown of coarse black woollen stuff, with large,
short sleeves, an apron of cotton cloth in red and green checks, knotted
round the waist with a green ribbon, with a stomacher of the same attached
by two pins at the upper corners, coarse shoes on her feet, and yellow
stockings, like the women of Marseilles. Mademoiselle Baptistine's gown
was cut on the patterns of 1806, with a short waist, a narrow, sheath-like
skirt, puffed sleeves, with flaps and buttons. She concealed her gray hair
under a frizzed wig known as the baby wig. Madame Magloire had an
intelligent, vivacious, and kindly air; the two corners of her mouth
unequally raised, and her upper lip, which was larger than the lower,
imparted to her a rather crabbed and imperious look. So long as
Monseigneur held his peace, she talked to him resolutely with a mixture of
respect and freedom; but as soon as Monseigneur began to speak, as we have
seen, she obeyed passively like her mistress. Mademoiselle Baptistine did
not even speak. She confined herself to obeying and pleasing him. She had
never been pretty, even when she was young; she had large, blue, prominent
eyes, and a long arched nose; but her whole visage, her whole person,
breathed forth an ineffable goodness, as we stated in the beginning. She
had always been predestined to gentleness; but faith, charity, hope, those
three virtues which mildly warm the soul, had gradually elevated that
gentleness to sanctity. Nature had made her a lamb, religion had made her
an angel. Poor sainted virgin! Sweet memory which has vanished!
Mademoiselle Baptistine has so often narrated what passed at the episcopal
residence that evening, that there are many people now living who still
recall the most minute details.
At the moment when the Bishop entered, Madame Magloire was talking with
considerable vivacity. She was haranguing Mademoiselle Baptistine on a
subject which was familiar to her and to which the Bishop was also
accustomed. The question concerned the lock upon the entrance door.
It appears that while procuring some provisions for supper, Madame
Magloire had heard things in divers places. People had spoken of a prowler
of evil appearance; a suspicious vagabond had arrived who must be
somewhere about the town, and those who should take it into their heads to
return home late that night might be subjected to unpleasant encounters.
The police was very badly organized, moreover, because there was no love
lost between the Prefect and the Mayor, who sought to injure each other by
making things happen. It behooved wise people to play the part of their
own police, and to guard themselves well, and care must be taken to duly
close, bar and barricade their houses, and to fasten the doors well.
Madame Magloire emphasized these last words; but the Bishop had just come
from his room, where it was rather cold. He seated himself in front of the
fire, and warmed himself, and then fell to thinking of other things. He
did not take up the remark dropped with design by Madame Magloire. She
repeated it. Then Mademoiselle Baptistine, desirous of satisfying Madame
Magloire without displeasing her brother, ventured to say timidly:—
"Did you hear what Madame Magloire is saying, brother?"
"I have heard something of it in a vague way," replied the Bishop. Then
half-turning in his chair, placing his hands on his knees, and raising
towards the old servant woman his cordial face, which so easily grew
joyous, and which was illuminated from below by the firelight,—"Come,
what is the matter? What is the matter? Are we in any great danger?"
Then Madame Magloire began the whole story afresh, exaggerating it a
little without being aware of the fact. It appeared that a Bohemian, a
bare-footed vagabond, a sort of dangerous mendicant, was at that moment in
the town. He had presented himself at Jacquin Labarre's to obtain
lodgings, but the latter had not been willing to take him in. He had been
seen to arrive by the way of the boulevard Gassendi and roam about the
streets in the gloaming. A gallows-bird with a terrible face.
"Really!" said the Bishop.
This willingness to interrogate encouraged Madame Magloire; it seemed to
her to indicate that the Bishop was on the point of becoming alarmed; she
"Yes, Monseigneur. That is how it is. There will be some sort of
catastrophe in this town to-night. Every one says so. And withal, the
police is so badly regulated" (a useful repetition). "The idea of living
in a mountainous country, and not even having lights in the streets at
night! One goes out. Black as ovens, indeed! And I say, Monseigneur, and
Mademoiselle there says with me—"
"I," interrupted his sister, "say nothing. What my brother does is well
Madame Magloire continued as though there had been no protest:—
"We say that this house is not safe at all; that if Monseigneur will
permit, I will go and tell Paulin Musebois, the locksmith, to come and
replace the ancient locks on the doors; we have them, and it is only the
work of a moment; for I say that nothing is more terrible than a door
which can be opened from the outside with a latch by the first passer-by;
and I say that we need bolts, Monseigneur, if only for this night;
moreover, Monseigneur has the habit of always saying 'come in'; and
besides, even in the middle of the night, O mon Dieu! there is no need to
At that moment there came a tolerably violent knock on the door.
"Come in," said the Bishop.