The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXXV, Issue 20, 16 May 1907, Page 3

The Storyteller

THE OLD SOUTANE

Some years ago there lived near a poor village in Auvergne one of the poorest mdssioners that had ever penetrated the defiles of the cayennes. The meanest peasant employed in searching the- bowels of the mountains for antimony and coal wouM not have envied tine huantble cottage whidh was his dwelling. , Built against the end of a little gray stone church surmounted by an iron cross, -it might have been tak» en for a hermitage, or for one of those hospitable asylums raised on the high places far from the 'beaten paths of travel; to guide and "succor the perishing wanderer. From the level on^ which it was situated the .eye fell upon the fertile basin of the Liniagne, traversed in its longest extent by the Allier, shining hke a silvery ribbon. Behind, the church on the slope of the mountain were some nuts, rising one above the other, and at a distance, reminding one of a caravan ascending a steep road. From this point the sight ,ran from rock to rock along the chain to which belong the Puy •de Dome, the Plomb de Uautal ami the Mont d'Or. " Such was the kind of Thebaid inhabited for more than ten years by the venerated priest of . (The reader will easily understand the scruple that hinders us from, writimg here the name of the village, as well as our reluctance to alter the accuracy of the least details in this simple narrative by adopting the com'mompjliace expedient of a fictitious name.) He wag a man about sixty, with spare, active, erect figure, and- a countenance beaming with mild benevolence. His entire 1 simplicity of heart did not exclude either the refinement or the elevation of- a powerful intellect, nor did the austerity of his own life diminish in anything his in- . duilgent consideration for others' weaknesses. His faith was ardent, and- his zeal for «the poor people committed to his charge knew no other bounds than those which nature had imposed on his physical strength, that - his charity in their regard made him almost accomplish miracles. The winter had no cold so rigorous no snow so thick, the mountains had no ravine so ■, deep, nor had any night a' darkness so profound as 1o deter ham from the exercise of his arduous and painful duties. And all this dome &uite- simiply, wittojout the most secret motion of vanity, and with an air of . sincere interest and good nature which removed the very idea of personal sacrifice. One "evening in summer, it might be eight o'clock, the cure, after having finished the reading of his bre- * viary, was' seated iif "silence near a low window which looked out towards the village. Returned late and fatigued from a long journey, he inhaled with a'sense of enjoyment the' refreshing air that breathed into the loom. Margaret, his housekeeper, "was arranging on the shelves of an oaken dresser the simple requisites that had 'been' used at her master's frugal supper, for as his frequent excursions to the distant and various localities under the control of his ministry often detained him from home to an ad\anced hour, he had adopted of . necessity as well as 'by choice the primitive hours of the country people. Besides the piece of furniture* we have just mentioned, the room contained a dining table, "'which also served as a card table during the long win--ler evenings, when the good- cure would now "and then\ gravely dispute the chances of a gam©- of piquet or of - chess. -In front was an old walnut--tree, chest, and, a* •,the end 1 of the 1 chamber, near a small door, the principal article of all, the cure's bed, arrayed with the" most patriarchal simplicity. A magnificent ivory erucilix, the jgift of a noble and pious lady,- was placed above a prie-dicu of plain black oak. In one of the : angles formed by the projection of a vast ' chimney stoo^' one"" of those Ions; boxes;" variegated with squares of different'' colors, much like the case of an Egyptian mummy, 'over whiqh appeared the dial of a~ r us,tic-look<ing - clock. Same cliairs of coarse straw completed the furniture, on the description of " which we have dwelt thus minutely because the entire household is the .perfect and severe type of a class including the greater number of the dwellings of the provincial clergy in poor and-"re-mote districts like this. . , . Margaret, a respectable aged matron, with a short', round' ftgjure and an important air, who had entered the" service, of the cure several years before,, was the real sovereign of this -little realm." The legitimate ruler had by degrees abdicated in her favor the . entire executive authority. And, saving an occasional abuse ol power, or a -.fit of grumbling now and then, it must be owned this domination was in no way subversive of 'the

common weal, and, besides, was perfectly suited to the cure's absolute lndiilerenee with regard to the petty details of life, especially in all that related to himself personally. His negligence in this respect, indeed, reached a degree of forgetfulness of his interests which, afforded Margaret an inexhaustible text for sundry unorthodox sermons whenever her master's unthinking liberality gave her a fair opportunity for the display of her eloquence. Notwithstanding his exceeding readiness to sacrifice the interests of his external dignity in time of need to the wants of others, it must not be understood from this that the cure was qvuile insensible to the claims of what may be called respect for his proper person. He- was none of those rigorists who make a crime 'of evpry thing that bears the -resemblance of a ■concession to the prejudices or the opinions of . the world, and still less one of thoset hypocritical pretenders! who glory in a tattered suit and neglected person. He felt his paver ty and. endured it~courageously, always ready when necessary to renounce his most legitimate desires. And thus it happened that during ten years iof continual privation he had not succeeded in. amassing the trifling sum essential to the fulfilment of his most anxious wish— the acquisition of a new soutane. That was his (highest worldly ambition. From constant recurrence to it, amd thanks 'besides to the incess'anft oratory of Margaret on the point, the wish had gradually assurmSd in his mind' the tenacity "of a fixed idea. In this truly there was nothing unreasonable, to judge fronn the deplorable appearance of the good Father's principal piece of clothing ; and in beholding it one could not but execrate the evil genius which, every ■ time he seemed on the point of grasping it, made the desired garment vanish before him, as if by magic Years glided .by, each o n e with its train of disappointments, and still the poor cure repeated with unwearied perseverance, 'it will be got next year, at Easter, before Pentecost, for the Assumption, against Christmas.' In vain had he alueady traversed 'this fatal circle ten times ; the seasons revolved, the festivals returned with inflexible regularity, leaving at each visit a yet more sensible trace of their' passage on the unfortunate soutane. The particular day on which we have introduced the worthy pastor to our readers happened to be ".one of those irritable days, when the gathered discontent of the housekeeper threw a gloom on her countenance like the dark clouds that were floating above the hills. The abruptness of her motions "and her redoubled activity betrayed a secret agitation, which only awaited a suitable oxasiion to 'break forth in words, while the face of the cure, on the contrary, exhibited even more than its usual degree of tranquil placidity, though an observer might have remarked that- this was mingled with an expression of concealed triumph seldom "to be seen upon his mee'e and humible brow. From time to time he turned his eyes from the extensive horizon before him to steal a glance unobserved at Margaret's proceedings, which apparently afforded him some amusement, as he seemed mow and then to suppress a sudden smile of "humor not unmixed with malicious expectation. The night, meanwhile, had come on ,; the sky was darkand gloomy, and the moon appeared but at intervals through the masses of clouds that were gathering) over it. The wind was beginning to agitate the summits of two tall chestnut trees- planted before the door of the presbytery. 1 After your journey and fatigues of the day/ said Margaret suddenly, in a tone of maternal authority, * sleep would' toe better for you at this hour than the open iair. The breeze from the plain is not whole-, some, and there is a storm coming on. At least you ought to close the window.' ■ M do not feel fatigued, Margaret. As to the air, you are in the ri&ht and I will obey you, though,' added he in an undertone as he shut the window, ' the storm the most to be dreaded just now is not that which threatened from without.' Margaret either dUd not or would not hear. Tihe cure sat down. ' Why should you be displeased with me to-day ? ' he continued, looking at her with' an affectation of douib't. "This time at least you would be in the wrong, Margaret.' These words .brought on the explosion foreseen by the cure at once. ' Ato, truly, I would be in the wrone; ; ' cried she, with a sort of comic indignation. : And' l ourht to- be very well pleased with you, to be sure ! A whole day passed from home without eating 1 or drinking, at your a^e •!, That? ist good a.nd praiseworthy, without doufbitl!. But it will enld badly with you, mark my words;.' ' Peace, Margaret, peace,' resumed the cure in a, voice. ' Our ministry has painful duties.' ' Oh, this is always the way with your pretended duities ! The Church, you say yourself every day, does

not reqjuire that one should kill the body in saving the soul ; and even so, if you got anything by it ex,cept "btessinigs— but see to what it has brought you'll Look aibtoii't you ! Tiber© is all you possess in the world ! There are the fruits of thirty years' toil ! You never have fifty francs in your purse together ! ' ' Who knows yet ? ' murmured the cure. '■' We must never mistrust the goodness of Providence.' ' You are very right t 0 say so, for if it did not proivdde I know not how we should have a morsel of bread for the latter end of our days, since you cannoti even keep what it sends for your own use. Look', at yourself, I beg. Is ther,e in the entire parish a poorer mfan than you ? What has ' become of all the fin® promises you made me at Easter ? Here is the Assumption close at hand, and what are we to do ? What have you gained to-day, for instance, after your long journey ? Nothing !.' ' Nothing,' said the cure, smiling with a mysterious air. ' Or at most a few paltry francs— good means, indeed, to buy a soutane ! ' Here she was interrupted by. a flash of lighjtning that filled the room for an instand withi a vdvid glare, and left a long, train of fire on the * side of the mountain, followed by a peal of thunder so long and loud that it seemed to have fallen on the very house itself. The cure "and the housekeeper crossed themselves. Margaret lighted & little lamp that hung over the chimney board, and, dipping a branch of box into the small font, she sprinkled the holy water all around her, while the priest recited' a short prayer. During this time the thunder bad died away, (and' the rain began to fall in torrents. The cure resumed quietly : ' Margaret, you must inquire if there is in the country a tailor able to make well and speedily a new soutane for your cure.' 'What is that?-' cried the housekeeper hastily, fancying she had mistaken him. ' What did you say, if you please ? ' ' I say that you have forgotten it will soon fete "the 25th of July.' ' < Well-? ' v ' Well, to-day I was sent for to her chateau by the Dowager Baroness Dubrief , who pressed me to accept as a donation the sum of two hundred »francs, which are here. ' So saying, the good priest, smiling unrestrainedly at Ms triumph,- drew from beneath, his soutane a leather purse very agreeably fitted. Margaret stretched out her hand as if to assure herself that the vision was real, when the cure started up with a loud cry. A bhi'gjht light tinged everything from the slope of the mountain to the windows. The cure ran to open the door of the presbytery. A column of mingled smoike aqd flame w*as rushing from the roof of a house in tho centre of the village. * Fire ! fire ! ' cried' the cure. ' Margaret,- hasten ; go and ring the church bell to call help.' . ' Margaret went out by an interior door which' led to the sacristy. 'The Father took his hat and his cane and proceeded through the gloom towards the scene of the disaster. The next "morning the fire was quite extinct ; only one dwelling, the meanest in the village, had perished; but the poor cure had, in the flames, lost a portion of Ms soutane. 'Happily,' said Margaret, as she finished repairing this mishap with a piece of cloth but in- - differently matched as tp color, ' happily, thanks to the generosity of her ladyship the baroness?- the evil this time- is not without remedy.' ' Alas ! my good Margaret,' replied the cure in a deprecatory tone and with a hesitation of manner, like a schoolboy caught in a fault, •' that is more than can be, said of the misfortune which has lief alien these poor people. ' - ' Well, you will preach next Sunday and make a collection for them. No doubt they will be relieved.' 'It is to be hoped so, at least. But should' it not he our part, Margaret, to set the example ? ' ' Now, you are beginning already with' your false notion®. Every one is bound to help the poor according to his means— the rich with monjay, the priest with the word. Kemember that you have for yourself scarcely the necessaries of life.' ■ ■ s Remember- that they have nothing.' 'But you w,ant another -soutane.' , c And they have neither clothing nor food.* . c Good heaven ! ' exclaimed the housekeeper, struck" ,by a sudden suspicion. x ' What have done with the money you showed me yes fcerday ? ' . . ' Margaret,' answered the cure, covered with confusion, ' you need not go to order the new soutane we were speakinig of— l— l— have not the money— it is lost.' And so it was indeed to him, but willingly lost. He had given it to the poor cottagers whose hut was-

burned, Margaret clasped her hands, but luckily for the good Father, her extreme horror and dismay deprived her of the power to articulate a single syllable. The ■ following soring an unexpected occurrence increased the anxiety" which 'the good cure really felt aibout the soutane, notwithstanding his excessive liberality. There was suddenly spread the report of an intended pastoral visit of the Bishop to all the parishes in his diocese. This news at first threw our poor friend into that kind of torpor which arises fjom tihe sight of imminent danger. His brain grew dizzy for a moment, as if he 'had felt the ground waver beneath his feet, and this prostration* of his faculties was succeeded fay a feverish excitement and a - preternatural degree of activity. He went, he came, "he multiplied his exertions, acting without respite and without aim, doing the same things over and over every day. He spoke aloud to himself; and, in short, tried every means to strengthen himself against his own fears. Labor in rain. All his efforts te-minated in such a miserable result that he finally renounced all hope of passing honorably through this terrible «• ordeal. Already lie imagined himself appearing shameful, negligent, and disrespectful-looking before, his ecclesiastical superior, when Providence came to his aid once more, in the shape of the charitable widow, secretly informed of the circumstances by Margaret. A tailor was immediately sent for to a neighboring town. Time The tailor was poor ; he must be paid beforehand for his work and furnished with means to purchase the requisite stuff. Jn returning the tailor, who was fond of drink, stopped at a public house, where the wine produced such a marvellous effect on his imagination that it made him completely overlook the important distinction between' meum and tuuin. The cure bore this new stroke with the seeming insensibility of one who has no longer .strength even to suffer. The-, robber was arrested. The priest caused him to be released, saying to himself that one misfortune should not be repaired by another, and affirming that he would make the tailor a present of the money he had spent, at which declaration Margaret was tempted to believe that her master irad really lost his senses. 'At length the day of trial arrived. The ringing of all the bells in the neighborhood announced the entrance of the prelate into the parish. The oure, aicctfmpanied by his sacristan^and two choir boys in their official costume, left the -presbytery that they might be ready to receive his Lordship at the entrance of the village. The local authorities, in their robes of office, bore the canopy under which the Bishop was to be conducted to the e-huroh. The pastor himself, his confidence restored by the shining surplice that covered his old soutane, advanced with a firm step at the head of his little escort, along, a patfi strewn with flowers and between) a double row of cottages, aJl*adorned in.some manner to do honor to the occasion. The Bishop appeared ; the procession accompanied him to the church, where the cure said Mass. After the Mass he came to offer his respects to the prelate-. His . Lordshdp was seated, with his two grand vicars respectfully standing on either side, and surrounded by the principal inha^itants of the commune. He was a man of about forty, of a "diginificd mien and a prepossessinig app«?airance. His manners were courtly, his countenance noble,' and he expressed himself with the grace and fluency of an orator accustomed to speak before the great owes of the earth. The poor cure felt his firmness deserting him the instant he was obliged to divest himself of the friendly surplice. The young prelate knitted has brows -at sight of the miserable vesture worn by the venerable priest, who trembled before him "like a criminal before his judge. ' Monsieur,' said he in a severe tone, is your parish so very poor a nd are your revenues so scanty that you cannot' afford your>erson the attention- which the 'dignity of the priesthood requires ? ' .OS f 4 I beseech, your Lordship to pardon me.' "We are far, monsieur,' pursued the- Bishop gravely, ' from those happy times when" the Church, honored for herself alone, arrayed herself solely-in the austere virtue of her servants. Her ministers are no longer apostles "nor- martyrs ; they are men- dwelling in. the world, of agreeable exteiior and attractive conversation, laboring with zeal and prudence to reanimate the faith- aifd charity of their fellow-men by rendering religion sweet and easy to them. To act in any other spirit, M. le Cure, to deter them- /from the service of religion by exhibiting a spectacle Of severity and- privation is to display a degree of incapacity or of singularity alike deplorable/ IMy Lord, my slender means alone, ' and the cure stopped, for he remembered that there was some other cause besides his poverty, and he could not continue his justification.

' I know the whole. I know that your improvidence anid ill-regulated charity compromise the respect necessary for a minister of religion, and I strongly condemn a .cofti|d.uct so ineousi'deratie. Go, Monsijeur >le Cure, and learn, that by sacrificing what we owe to ourselves we 'incur the risk of failing in ihe resgetst - *vhich we owe to others.' When the cure was gone the' Bishop turned with a . smile- to the 'witnesses of this little extempore drama. 1 The lesson Iras been a harsh one,' said ' he, ' but it was necessary. I fancy, our worthy 'cure's excessive liberality is cheeked 1 for some time. However, M. l'Abbe/ added he, addressing one of his vicars, ' you will take care to send promptly to my excellent peniv tent- 'a new soutane and three hundred francs, as" a reserve to meet the requirements of his devoted charity/ Before returning^to the presbytery the cure, deeply affected by the- rebuke of his superior, prayed a long time in the church, and strove earnestly to reconcile in his mind the due claims of Ms several duties. The mental struggle was long and painful ; a cold sweat bedewed his brow. Returning home, he had the fever. Margaret scolded him more gently than us'uail, and mad© him go to bed. Some days after this a physician was standing with a look of sorrow beside the sick bed of the cure. Margaret, with her face hidden in her hands, was weeping biitterly. A stranger entered ; he carried on -iiis arm a handsome soutane of the finest black, and in his hand a well-filled purse. 4 From -my Lord Bishop,' said he. - Tihe sick man smiled sadly. ' I pray you,' said 1 he, raising his voice, 'to thank his Lordship heartily in the name of my, successor and recommend to his goodness an ardent preacher, whose precepts I have too often slighted.' He pointed towards Margaret. 'My Gad,' he added -in a lower tone, clasping bis hands, ( I have; I fear, desired too earnestly one earthly good ; but since 1 cannot in this world accomplish my desires so as to assist Thy suffering creatures and live without reproach, I go to Thy Kingdom, where there ace -none poor, and where those who have loved Thy law shall be clothed with Thy glory for ever and ever.' • He -closed his eyes ; a tranquil smile shone upon his worn features, and ere it had faded from his lips the pure spirit was in the presence of its Creator — 'Tfce Guidon/