A REPENTANT SOUL

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXXIII, Issue 32, 10 August 1905, Page 23

A REPENTANT SOUL

i. The other day, in Paris, died an old woman who for many years haxl been known not only for the singular purity and unselfishness of her own life, but also for the practical interest she took in the lives of her fellowcxeatuies, paiA.ieulcUly children and youth, whom she was accustomed to seek out and gather about her in her own simple but comfortable home, instructing them in the doctrines and mysteries of their religion, while at the same time she ministered to their material wants. The boys aivd girls whom she instructed and prepared for their First Communion, to whom later she imparted the knowledge necessary for the preservation and defence of their Faith, and for whom she procured situations in which the practice of it would not be forbidden, nor its foundations imperilled, might be numbered among the thousands. The following is her history ; On a certain day in Lent, more than forty years ago, Madame Blanchot, a widow of considerable means, still young; and attracti\e, was sitting in the salon of her charming apartment on one of the handsomest streets in Paris. As she sat near the window, which overlooked a pleasant garden, just now bursting into bloom, a \jsitor \\<as armtounced. It proved to ifc>e her landlord, Monsieur Margcron, a man of perhaps sixty years of age, largo, rubicund, prosperous, but very ordinary looking, wilh a certain air of \anity whuh betokened lhat he ga^e himself full credit for the gcoJ things which had fallen to his share. ' You have called about the rent, Monsieur Margeron ? ' said the lady. ' I am willing to pay the increaso you ask, although I think I ha\c been paying enough already. It is, however, both disagjecajWe and expensive to move ; one becomes attached to places, and this place is endeared to me by many associations.' ' I am gEad that you have decided to remain,' replied Margoron. 'I do not like to lose old tenants. As it stands, ifhc apartment is cheap. 'But you look sad, Madame.' 1 Yes, lam feeling sad To-morrow will be die feast of Our Lady's Compassrion. On that day iry husband always went with me to Holy Communion.' 'Ah ! ' said Margeron, ruiibing his fat hands. ' I had often wondered that Monsiear Blanc net, man of the world that he was, should have been so religious.' ' He was not at all what you call " so religious," ' she reje mcd promptly; for Madame was a woman of great energy of character, never hesitating to spoak the truth as she knew it. Margeron .seemed embarrassed. He looked somewhat aimlessly aro.it the apartment ; at length, seeing the large hrown eVes of Madame Blr.nchct fixed questioningly upo.n him, he obser\ed: 1 Very religi(/ii\ I .shoild say, for a man—not advanced—quite mediae-, al, as my daughter uould express it.' ' Your daughter ! Ah, }''ou are Aery proud of her, Monsieur ? ' ' Yes ; I ha\e reason to be.' ' She is quite " advanced, " I believe ? ' ' In her ideas on religion, yes.' ' And she has inoculated you aho *> ' ' I can not-— T do not exactly follow you, Madame,' answered Margeron, who was, to tell the truth, a very simple man indeed. ' And when A\cre you at the Sacraments, Monsieur "> ' inclined Madame Blanchet, with the directness of Ihe grange dame addressing an inferior— an attitude which her landlord did not resent, but "which would ha\e eva.sj eiated his daughter, of whom he was so I roud ' Not for Home time, Madame,' he re, 1 e;l, a littl' ii>cr\ously — ' not for time- 11 is not necessary — a mere matter of form And why should one comply wilh f-vms A\h<n one no longer — ' ' When one no lone/ r ; bel'e\ es 7 ' interrupted Madame Blanche! 'Ts lhat what von were aboil to remark 7 ' ' Not exactly, Madame — not e\nctly. When one marries, or if rn> is dvipo, it is letier, of course — ' ' Nonspii'-e ' ' lnieriutod Madame Blrn-hi't imr-a-tientlv '' That's a li'iful subterfuge How incontinent you aic, Mons : cir Margeron ' ' 'These things are \ erv delicate, Mr.d.mie,' remarkel Iho old man, again ru'b<!>ine; h s hands •" They l'e lyetween a man and his Mailer They bt 1< ng to ihv domain of conscipuce, ard conscience is a sanctuary wherein-

Madame Blanchet laughed. 1 You are quoting your foolish daughter, Monsieur,' she said. ' You were not a very young man, when she was born. At that time you were, no doubt, a practical Catholic.' ' I was, Madame. My wife was the mast religious of women.' ■ ' Yes, you are rigjht— a simple, good woman— so' I have heard. 'Why not keep to that beautiful simplicity, Monsaewr ? It would become you much toett<r liijan the role you have gradually assumed of late yeajrs. Frankly, now, what is it that prevents you from'goinff to confession ? ' -00 ' Many things which I can not enumerate here, Madame, answered Margeron, with a more pompous ait, as he remembered that he was the owner of the large and handsome building in which Madame 81-anchet had been domiciled so long. As he mentally adjusted their separate roles of landlord and tenant, he began to assume a trifle more dienity than ho had before manifested. His brow contracted in a frown ; he placed his fat hands firmly on either arm of the chair in which he. sat, as he repeated • 1 Many things, Madame— many things, most of which you would not understand.' A faint pink flush stole into Madame BlancheVs check. ' That is your polite way, then, of telling me that I am a very foolish person ? ' she answered laurfiinffly. 'Oh, no, Madame, not at all ! ' he went on suavelr. I say what I mean when I tell you that I bnow you are far more intelligent and far better educated than I am , but— but you have been brought up in a prejudiced atmosphere. These prejudices have been ingrained by association and also by such authorities as—" ' Our friend the Vicar of St. Vincent's, for instance —a man whose learning and sanctity are known to all ' Madame was growing impatient. Her landlord on tie contrary, had begun to hold himself well in hand. lie continued, very calmly': ' Madame must know that I admire and respect the lure of St. Vincent's ; but he also has adhered to the same lines as yourself. Formerly the Church stood for all that was groat and good in civilisation. But, then, it has not progressed, Madame— it has not progressed. An my dear lady, if you would only read, or hear read, the doctrines of the modern savants ! ' ' Fln t e sa\ants those to whom you allude, Monsieur! Many of them have never given an hour to the sincere study of religious truths, and yet theie is nothing too high or holy for them to approach and comment upon in heir imspeal- able audacity. I tell you, Monsieur; that their teachings are false, their pretended discoveries nothing but impostures, and they themselves only impious a a^aWonds.' v ' (;h - °h ' .' exclaimed the landlord, much flurried, and inwardly hoping that something or some one would put unfh" h • V + lllte r icw - lle clld not wish to quarrel with h s tenant ; he could not argue with her to his own satisfaction. It was, therefore, a great relief to him when alight tap was heard al* the door, and to MaSame Blanche's tome in his 'daughter entered. She was about tv.cntyr-'sfhen years old, rail, dark, and intelligent in appearance, but the expression of her countenance was one of discontent and obstinacy. ' Good afternoon, Emma ! ' said Madame Blanchet pleasantly. ' Your father and I have been discussing religion, and we do not seem to be able to agree ' ' And lam afraid we never shall, my dear ' said Monsieur Matron as _ his daughter seated herself Madame Blanchet has just been asking me why 1 do not male my Raster duty.' y mprfii nma looiCfl at h-er fathCr ' aml bOlh lau S hc *l ' Fancy you pee me telling my .sins to a man— good enough perhaps, but still a man, and one often not very nr c.i better than myself ! Can you imagine it, Emma?' Admitted, interposed the widow, gravely ' Holy or not, 1h- priest has leeched from (Jed the power to abs' Ivo from sin.' 4 I,' Aml ™ he , rp>> aslc>l Kmma ha^htily, < is the manlell me, Madame— who could absolve my good father fnm sin •> He has no sins IT e is a just man : scrupulously bone.f, kind, affectionate No one could have bee-ia ) better husband ; there docs not exist a better 1 3, 1 1 1 y V 'Thai may be, Emma,' answered Madame Blanchet Tdo rot dispute if. But the saints themselves committed faults and weni to confession.' ' 'Ihe paints acted according to their lights, Madame said Emma. 'All 1 know is that if any man is worthy to en'lor hra\en, that man is my father' ' You do not boheve, then, in the laws of the Church ? '

There have been good men in the Church, there are Stall ; JKut Ido not try to interfere with their belief. Let them think as they please. For myself, I will think as I, please, Madame. This is a progressive age. •Narrowness has been shelved, and it is the broad-min-ded tolerants who will revolutionise the world.' ' Alas, to their own and the world's undoing, ! ' answered Madlame Blanche r.. ' Emma, 1 remember you as a happy young girl ; you do not seem to be happy now. Your convent days— have you forgotten them ? ' 4 They seem to me like a childish dream, Madame,' Said Emma, proudly lifting her dark head. 'In those days I was only a parrot • since ihen I have loarneri to read and to think. 1 Come, my dear,' observed her father. 'It is near Madame's dinner hour.' All Madame Blanchet's amiability seemed to have returned. She arose smilingly, and went with them to the door. 1 You are both too gtood to perish,' she said as they stood a moment on the landing. ' I am going to pray for you.' 'Thank you, Madame,' answered Emma, pleasantly enough ; while her father added laughingly : •Pray that I may ha\e the .benefit of a priest before I leave the world, Madame. I am apt to go suddenly, with my heart complaint.' 4 Do not je-st, Monsieur,' said the widow seriously. 1 But I am not jesting,' the old man responded. ' I assure you I should feel very uncomfortable if I thought I Would not haw the priest before I died.' ' Ah, Monsieur,' murmured Madame Blanchet, ' I canno* understand your position ! It is most inconsistent. You aro taking a great risk— a very great risk. Who can presume on the mercy of C4od ? ' 1 I am not afraid,' said the old man. ' And remember, Madame, you have promised to pray for me' So saying, he continued his way, laughingly, down the stairs ; while a little iti advance of him marched his daughter, with head held erect. Madame Blanche! looked after them thoughtfully for a brief moment, and returned to her apartment. 11. About the middle of July tne malady of the heart fr-om which Monsieur Miargeron suffered began to maku itself unpleasantly evident, in a fortnight he had be come seriQu&ly ill and was obliged to remain in bed His daughter attended him with filial devotion. Madame Blanchet was absent in the country at the time, bjut returned in August on 'business, and then learned of her landlord's illness. The next morning she met Emma cm the stairs. After exchanging sahf tations with her, the other lady said : ' They tell me your father is quite ill— confined to his bed. 1 ■' Yes, he is ill, 1 Emma replied. ' His heart troubles him a great deal.' 'Do you not know, Emma,' said Madame Blanchet, that in a, disease like his, and at his age, a sudden breaking-down is dangerous 7 ' ' Yes, Madame, I know it very well ; and I am doing all I can to alleviate his sufferings.' Madame Blanchet hesitated. 4 Emma,' she inquired, ' has he Had the priest ? ' ' The priest ' ' echoed Emma. ' Why should I frighten him to death by calling in the priest ? ' ' Mas he asked for one ? ' 'No,' replied Emma: ' he has nc\er alluded to the subject.' 4 It would be a terrible thing to let him die without the last Sacraments. He would not wish to do so himself,' said Madame Blandhet. 4 Madame,' answered Emma, ' I am aware of that. I have studied the nature of my father's disease. Jf he does not recover from this attack soon, -he cannot last Iomb;. I am hoping, by good care and perfect quiet, to restore him to his usual state of health. The least excitement might defeat all this. Do you nat understeni *» ' Madame Blanchet remained s l^nt She did not, know what lo say to this subtle and no doubt sincere excuse. ' Will you allow me to steak to him ' ' she asked, after a Ipause. I assure you I shall no.t alarm him.' ' No, I cannot allow anyone to see him. You would be sure to mention confession.' ' Yes, I would.' 1 Very well, —you shall not see him. I beg of you not to worry yourself aTiout it. I know your motives are good, and I appreciate them — though you may fmid some difficulty in believing; it. I am not at all narrow-minded, and can view the subject from both sides. But I IVave firmly decided on my course, and shall not alter my decision.'

4 You are taking a great risk, my girl.' said Madame Blanchet. 'I am willing to take it, and to suffer for it. I beseech you to trust me, Madame. My mother died while I was still a child. I was instructed and educated by religious. I know what is required. And I am not by any means an infidel. Certainly between your ideas of religion and mine there is a difference ; but, all th-ngs told, I am a Christian, and feel that my father would wish to die as a Christian. And so he shall.' ' But, in a matter so grave as this, one should not be too — prudenit.' ' Permit me, Madame ! Prudence may be exercised in two ways, especially in such a case. I have not only to watch that my father may comply— at the proler time— with the laws of the Church, but I must also take care not to inflict upon him one pain more than het already suffers. 1 Then do I understand you to mean, Emma, that you will wait to call a priest until your father has lost consciousness ? ' 1 I might resont tnis interference, Madame, were it not that I know you are really concerned. However d.sagreeable your 'questions may be, I will answer them by assuring you finally that 1 shall not hesitate a singlo moment to call a priest when my father asks for one.' 'Ah ! ' exclaimed Madame Blanchet. It is atoittflr and dangerous thing to temporise thus with Almighty God. Emma, I beseech you—', But Emma, placing her finger on her lips to ensure silence, hurried into her own apartmentsi, and softly closed the door behind her. Madame Blancnet relumed to the couintry without seeing her again. Tho first, of September came, and with it Madame Blanchet. She went to see Emma at once. 4 How is your father ? ' she asked. ' Just now \ery weak.' And, reading the question in her neigh'ttqr's eyes, she added : •He will rally again, the doctors say so. And then I will send for the priest.' ' Whether ho asks for him or not ? ' ' Whether he asks or not.' Madame Blanchet, went away, praying that the old man might indeed rally before the end. That niflht it came. The next day, after all the funeral arrangements had been made, Emma knocked at Madame Blanchet's door. That lady had gone once or twice to her apartments but had not been admitted. She thought it strange, but knew that many persons re fer to be alone in the first hours of their grief. 'Her heart was troubled : she feared the suck man had died without the priest. Dry-eyod and pallid, Emma stood in the doorway. Madame Blanchet took boi* her hands and drew her inside. RL°id as a statue, she seated herself by a table, refusing the easy-chair which Madame Blanchet offered. ' Madame,' she said, ' they have refused to put my father in consecrated ground. They will not let him lie beside my mother.' 4 He did rot have the priest, then ? ' 1 No, hd did not recehe the last Sacraments It was. entirely my fault. Yesterday I told you a lie in order to be rid of what I called your importunities. I said the doctors had told me he would rally It was a falsehood : they had said nothing of the kind. Last mgjnt ho had a severe choMng spell. I felt that he was abdut to die. As he was recovering, speechless and agonising, he looiked at me with imploring eves I knew what he wanted to ask. " Father," I whispered, shaH I send for the priest? " In those strained bescechin.? eyes I read the answer to my question. I rane the bell, a servant came ; I bade her run as fast as she could for a priest and doctor, telling her to summon tho priest first. I held my father in my arms, his terrified eyes alternating between me and the door I shall nnver forget that imploring look, never ' As the roor head sank lower and lower on my shoulder I nravrd aloud And then— the door opened, the doctor hurruM in, the priest behind him. But it was too late —too Jate— my p>oor father was gone' l ' She arose, walked nervously up and down the room pausing at length in front of Madame Blanchet " Arid now they will not let him lie in consecrated proumi ' ' she cried out hvFterir-allv, clasping her hands high abo\e her he-ad in the agony of her sorrow 'Ho may not repose beside my mother ; he will be alone all a'one ' And it is n,v fault., my fault t But it is hist Madame— it is iust't It is the law of the Churchthat Church which I have ridiculed, but which I now admire ! It is the law, and the law must be obeyed Tt is just, Madame; but, oh, how sad, how sad ! And I— what will happen to me ' '

' Come,' staid Madame Blamchet, tenderly clasping her arms about the frenzied , and grief-stricken girl— ' come, let us go to your father.' Emma went with her like a child. When they came to the room where they had laid him, Madame lifted the handkerchief from the cold white face. ' See ! ' she said. ' How peaceful he looks—how content ! His last wish was for the Sacrament of Penance, his last thought a prayer. He is in the hands of God. Be consoled, my child ! Do not despair. You, too, will be forgiven. God is very merciful. 1 For a moment Emma gazed uncomprehendingly into the face of the good woman. Then the words which she had j\ist heard seemed to pierce her bewildered brain. As she gazed lovingly at the face of her dead father, tears long delayed coursed down her pallid oheeks After a few moments she turned to Madame Blanchet. 'Heis in purgatory,' she said. 'As you remarked a while ago, he is in the merciful hands of God. I believe it, and 1 will live henceforward so as to show that I believe it.' Then, softly sinking to her knees, and cla&ping her arms about the coffin which held all that remained of the father to whom she had been so devoted, she began to recite aloud the Acts of Faith, Hope, Charity, and Contrition. As the passionate fervor of the prayers died away into Soltys, Maidame Blanchet saw tihat the poor girl could endure no more. Tenderly lifting her in her arms, she led her away from the sorrowful scene, hallowed and blessed by this sublime consecration. From that hour Emma Margeron took up the burden of a life devoted to her fellow-beings. As she lived, so she died, lamented toy the tears and succored by the fervent prayers of those whom she had befriended, instructed, and assisted on the way of salvation. — ' Aye Maria.'