The Mysteries of Paris, Volume 6 of 6

    R.
    Abbey of Ste. Hermangeld.
    Four o'clock in the morning.

Reassure yourself, Clémence! Thank God, the danger is over, but the crisis was terrible!

Last evening, agitated by my thoughts, I recollected the paleness and languor of my poor child, and that she was obliged to pass almost all the night in the church in prayer.

I sent Murphy and David to demand the Princess Juliana's permission to remain until the morrow in the mansion that Henry occupied usually; thus my child would have prompt assistance, and I prompt intelligence, in case that her strength failed under this rigorous, I will not say cruel, obligation to pass the whole of a cold winter's night in the church.

I wrote to Fleur-de-Marie that, whilst I respected her religious exercises, I besought her to watch in her cell and not in the church. This was her reply:

"My dear Father: – I thank you for this fresh proof of your tenderness, but be not alarmed, I am sufficiently strong to perform my duty. Your daughter must be guilty of no weakness. The rule orders it, I must submit. Should it cause me some physical sufferings, how joyfully shall I offer them to God! Adieu, dear father! I cannot say I pray for you, because whenever I pray to Heaven I cannot help remembering you in my prayers. You have been to me on earth what God will be, if I merit it, in heaven. Bless your child, who will be to-morrow the spouse of Heaven.

    "Sister Amelie."

This letter, in some measure, reassured me; however I had, also, a vigil to keep. At nightfall I went to a pavilion I had built, near my father's monument, in expiation of this fatal night.

About one o'clock I heard Murphy's voice. He came from the convent in order to inform me that, as I had feared, my unhappy child, spite of her resolution, had not had sufficient strength to accomplish this barbarous custom.

At eight o'clock in the evening Fleur-de-Marie knelt and prayed until midnight, but, overpowered by her emotion and the intense cold, she fainted; two nuns instantly raised her, and bore her to her cell. David was instantly summoned, and Murphy came to me. I hastened to the convent, where the abbess assured me that my daughter's swoon, from which she had recovered, had been caused only by her weakness, but that David feared that my presence might seriously affect her. I feared they were preparing me for something more dreadful, but the superior said:

"I assure you, monseigneur, the princess is in no danger; the restorative the doctor has given her has greatly recruited her strength."

David soon returned. She was better, but had insisted upon continuing her vigil, consenting only to kneel upon a cushion.

"She is in the church, then?" cried I.

"Yes, monseigneur, but she will quit it in a quarter of an hour."

I entered the church, and, by the faint light of a lamp, I saw her kneeling and praying fervently. Three o'clock struck; two sisters, seated in the stalls, advanced and spoke to her; she crossed herself, rose, and traversed the choir with a firm step, and yet as she passed the lamp she seemed to me deathly pale. I remain at the abbey until the ceremony be over. I think now it is useless to send this letter incomplete. I will forward it to-morrow, with all the details of this sad day. Adieu, dearest! – I am heart-broken – pity!

    R.

THE LAST CHAPTER

THE THIRTEENTH OF JANUARY

Rodolph to Clémence

The thirteenth of January! Now a doubly sinister anniversary! Dearest, we have lost her for ever! All is over, – ended all. It is true, then, that there is a horrid pleasure in relating a terrible grief.

Yesterday I was complaining of the necessity that kept you from me; to-day, Clémence, I congratulate myself that you are not here, – you would have suffered too much. This morning I was in a light slumber, and was awakened by the sound of bells. I started in affright; it seemed to me a funereal sound, – a knell! In fact, our daughter is dead, – dead to us! And from to-day, Clémence, you must begin to wear her mourning in your heart, a heart always so maternally disposed towards her. Whether our child be buried beneath the marble of the tomb or the vault of the cloister, what is the difference to us? Hardly eighteen years of age, yet dead to the world!

At noon the profession took place, with solemn pomp, and I was present, concealed behind the curtains of our pew. I felt, but even with greater intensity, all the poignant emotion we underwent at her novitiate. How strange! She is adored! And they believe, universally, that she was attracted to a religious life by an irresistible vocation; and yet whilst they believed it was a happy event for her, an overwhelming sadness weighed down the spectators. There appeared in the very air, as it were, a doleful foreboding, and it was founded, if only half realised.

The profession terminated, they led our child into the chapter-room, where the nomination of the new abbess was to take place, and, thanks to my sovereign privilege, I went into this room to await Fleur-de-Marie's return to the choir. She soon entered; her emotion and weakness were so excessive that two of the sisters supported her. I was alarmed, less at her paleness and the great change in her features, than at the peculiar expression of her smile, which seemed to me imprinted with a kind of secret satisfaction.

Clémence, I say to you, perhaps we may very soon require all our courage, – I feel within myself that our child is mortally smitten. May Heaven grant that I am deceived, and may my presentiments arise only from the despairing sadness which this melancholy spectacle has inspired!

Fleur-de-Marie entered the chapter-room, all the stalls were filled by the nuns. She went modestly to place herself last on the left-hand side, still leaning on the arm of one of the sisters, for she yet appeared very weak.

The Princess Juliana was seated at the end of the apartment, with the grand prioress on one side and another dignitary on the other, holding in her hand the golden crozier, the symbol of abbatial authority. There was profound silence; and then the lady abbess rose, took the crozier in her hand, and said, in a voice of great emotion:

"My dear daughters, my great age compels me to confide to younger hands this emblem of my spiritual power," and she pointed to the crozier. "I am authorised by a bull of our holy father; I will, therefore, present to the benediction of monseigneur the Archbishop of Oppenheim, and to the approbation of his royal highness the grand duke our sovereign, whosoever of my dear daughters shall be pointed out by you to succeed me. Our grand prioress will inform you of the result of the election, and she who has been chosen will receive my crozier and ring."

I did not take my eyes off my daughter. Standing up in her stall, her two hands folded over her bosom, her eyes cast down, and half covered by her white veil and the long folds of her black gown, she was pensive and motionless, not supposing for a moment that she would herself be elected, as this fact had been communicated by the abbess to no one but myself.

The grand prioress took a book and read:

"Each of our dear sisters having been, according to the rule, requested a week since to place her vote in the hands of our holy mother, and keep her choice secret until this moment, in the name of our holy mother I declare to you, my dear, dear sisters, that one of you has, by her exemplary piety, merited the unanimous suffrages of the community, and that she is our sister Amelie, the most noble and puissant Princess of Gerolstein."

At these words a murmur of pleased surprise and satisfaction went around the apartment; the eyes of all the nuns were fixed on my daughter with an expression of tender sympathy, and, in spite of my painful forebodings, I was myself deeply touched at this nomination, which, done isolatedly and secretly, had yet presented such an affecting unanimity.

The abbess continued, in a serious and loud voice:

"My dear daughters, if it be, indeed, Sister Amelie whom you think the most worthy and most deserving of you all, – if it be she whom you recognise as your spiritual superior, let each of you reply to me in turn, my dear daughters."

And each nun replied in a clear voice:

"Freely and voluntarily I have chosen, and I do choose, Sister Amelie for my holy mother and superior."

Overcome by inexpressible emotion, my poor child fell on her knees, clasped her hands, and remained so until each vote was declared. Then the abbess, placing the crozier and the ring in the hands of the grand prioress, advanced towards my daughter to take her hand and conduct her to the abbatial seat.

"Rise, my dear daughter," said the abbess; "come and assume the place that belongs to you. Your virtues, and not your rank, have obtained for you the position you have gained."

Fleur-de-Marie, trembling, advanced a few steps, and said:

"Pardon me, holy mother, but I would speak to my sisters."

"Then first place yourself, my dear child, in your abbatial seat," said the princess; "it is from thence your voice shall be heard."

"That place, holy mother, never can be mine!" replied Fleur-de-Marie, in a low and tremulous voice.

"What mean you, my dear daughter?"

"So high a dignity was not made for me, holy mother."

"But the wishes of all your sisters call you to it."

"Permit me, holy mother, to make here, on my knees, a solemn confession; and my sisters will see, and you, also, holy mother, that the humblest condition is not humble enough for me."

"This arises from your modesty, my dear child," said the superior, with kindness, believing that the unhappy girl was giving way to a feeling of overdelicacy.

But I divined the confession Fleur-de-Marie was about to make, and, greatly alarmed, I exclaimed, in a voice of entreaty:

"My child, I conjure thee – "

It is impossible, my dearest Clémence, to describe the look which Fleur-de-Marie gave me. In an instant she understood all, and saw how deeply I should share in the shame of this horrible revelation. She comprehended that after such a confession they might accuse me of falsehood, for I had always made it out that Fleur-de-Marie had never left her mother. At this reflection the poor dear child thought she would be guilty of the blackest ingratitude towards me; she had not power to continue, but bowed down her head, overcome – overwhelmed.