A Close Run Thing

Frenchwoman as they seemed to be to Johnson, were breathed consummately. And there was scarce a trace of accent, though she did not Anglicize the king’s name as Cotton’s dispatch had done — or, at least, the way in which Edmonds had read it. ‘Mr Hervey, forgive me,’ she continued. ‘Yesterday you paid me the compliment of speaking in French, and I have not returned that compliment until now. Yesterday was … well, a most tiring day: I had not slept in—’

‘Sister, there is no need,’ he interrupted. ‘I believe you thought me … indulgent, in so far as I appeared to demand the surgeon in person. That was furthest from my intention.’

‘I do not doubt it for a moment, Mr Hervey. You are an honourable man, I think, one who might be trusted,’ she replied softly.

‘I hold myself to be so, Sister,’ said Hervey thankfully. It was curious how he felt the need of this nun’s approval.

‘Sir, I wish to explain something to you and then I have a kindness to ask.’

‘By all means, Sister,’ he replied, intrigued by both the warmth of her tone and the notion that he might be of assistance to her.

‘Mr Hervey, my name is Maria de Chantonnay. My people are from the Vendee. There was much suffering there after the rising for the king. You may know of General Turreau’s colonnes infernales?’

‘Yes, it was some time ago, but we all know of it.’

‘My father lost his estates there, after the fighting. We have been under suspicion ever since. My family will learn of the fighting here in Toulouse and they may fear the worst for me …’ Her voice trailed off.

Hervey nodded in sympathy but was at a loss to see where this might lead.

‘Sir, your army will, I think, have couriers whom it can trust. I wish to commit a letter to my people to you.’

He was not even sure where the Vendee was. He said that he supposed it must be possible, although he could not immediately think how. When she rectified his ignorance of the French seaboard he was even more sceptical. ‘I will, of course, do all I can, Sister. I cannot say whether your letter might be carried by courier, however. And I fear that it is quite impossible for me to carry it in person since I do not suppose the regiment will march further than Bordeaux for our passage to England. And the Vendee will scarcely be on the marching route to Paris for those regiments which are to furnish the garrison there. Why cannot you entrust it to French hands, Sister?’

‘Mr Hervey, there would be a price on any letter addressed to the comte de Chantonnay. Where may I find one of my own countrymen to trust at this time?’

The appeal was irresistible. ‘Sister Maria, I will do all I can,’ he said at length, ‘though what that is I am not in the least sure.’

Sister Maria de Chantonnay could now at last rest; for an Englishman, an English officer, had given his word, and she owned that there was no more she could ask for — nor, indeed, need ask for. ‘Mr Hervey,’ she resumed, her aspect and tone becoming once again solemn, ‘when I came here yesterday you had in your hands St Ignatius Loyola’s Spiritual Exercises— Oh, but please sit down and rest your leg.’ (She seemed suddenly to notice the slight awkwardness with which he stood.) ‘Did you read sufficient of it?’

What constituted sufficiency in her mind he was not sure, but he reckoned it would be a demanding measure. ‘In a cursory fashion,’ he replied truthfully but guardedly.

‘St Ignatius was a remarkable man, Mr Hervey. You will know of him, I feel sure?’

‘Nothing but that he was founder of the Jesuits,’ said Hervey flatly.

‘Yes, indeed, he was,’ she replied with the suggestion of a frown.

‘And the Jesuits were expelled from Spain and Portugal half a century ago for political intriguing, and from your own country, too, Sister, were they not?’ he added.

‘Yes,’ she sighed, ‘and His Holiness dissolved their order, it is true — though some there remained in Russia, I believe. But St Ignatius himself, Mr Hervey: do you know anything of the man and his faith?’

Hervey admitted that he did not and shifted uncomfortably in the sedile. His leg was beginning to ache and, with apologies, he began loosening the bindings of his overalls, grateful for the opportunity of distraction.

Sister Maria kneeled on the bare stone floor, sitting back on her heels, oblivious to any sign of his discomfort other than his leg. ‘Like you, St Ignatius of Loyola was a soldier,’ she pressed, ‘the younger son of a Spanish nobleman. I think you, too, perhaps are such a son, Mr Hervey — of a nobleman I mean.’

‘No,’ smiled Hervey, ‘not a nobleman. My father is a clergyman, a minister of the Church of England.’

‘Then a gentleman certainly,’ she replied, reflecting his smile. ‘St Ignatius was from the Basque country: you must have passed close to Loyola when you crossed the Pyrenees, Mr Hervey?’ (But the name meant nothing to him.) ‘He was wounded during the siege of Pamplona in the war with France — about 1520,1 think. He made a long convalescence and read much of the life of Christ and of the saints, and he determined to give his life wholly to God’s service. He gathered others about him, and they bound themselves by vow to become missionaries among the Mussulmen of the Holy Land. But when war barred their way to the east they offered their services instead to His Holiness.’

Hervey wondered where this could be leading, but thought better of trying to interrupt her homily.

‘It was then that they resolved upon founding a religious order, the Society of Jesus, with an additional vow of placing themselves entirely at His Holiness’s disposal. St Ignatius brought his soldier’s discipline to the order, you see, Mr Hervey.’

‘But I do not see, I am afraid, Sister. I do not understand your purpose. It is not unusual to find oneself, as a soldier, with wounds.’

She paused, and then startled him with her candour. ‘Do you pray, Mr Hervey?’

‘Yes, of course,’ he replied.

‘And do you meditate?’

He recoiled at the intrusion. But then, so disarming was her voice and manner, and so innocent her directness, that instead he found himself welcoming her solicitude. He knew full well that every officer maintained a pose — a mask — in which the worst effects of war were immured. But this pose, however habitual, was not maintained without effort, and with this nun he perceived the mask to be unnecessary: indeed, he felt in its slipping a glow, a warmth — a release even.

‘I think, Sister. About certain things I think much. But meditation would imply some system, would it not?’

‘Yes, and The Spiritual Exercises are just that.’

He could not but permit a smile at the adroitness with which she had brought the colloquy full circle. He was out-manoeuvred. It was now obvious to him how she had managed to survive both the reign of terror and the repression since! He freely confessed that the Exercises had engaged him, such as he had found the time to read — and, indeed, within the limits of his Latin, which was of late unpractised.

But she was no less ready for this self-deprecation. ‘St Ignatius, also, found he had insufficient Latin at first. He took to studying with the schoolboys of Barcelona, no less. If you wish, I will conduct you through the exercises.’

Hervey hesitated. ‘I am not sure … that is … I …’ And then, with a note of resolution: ‘Thank you, Sister; I accept, with gratitude.’

Sister Maria made a small bow and said she would return later to begin the catechism.

But now that the stiff formality between them had eased he felt it possible at last to ask of her certain matters. ‘Sister, a moment if you will. My regiment has so abruptly intruded on the peace of this place that … well, I think what I am trying to say is that we have not seen the like of your order hitherto. You seem more’ — he paused again, searching for a word that would convey his meaning without disparaging others he had seen — ‘more … austere.’

‘Mr Hervey, even the Benedictine orders have fallen on hard times in France since the Revolution. The Church is mistrusted, and much of its earthly wealth is gone. We have been left alone here, I believe, because Toulouse was not a place of importance in the wars, but also because we are Carmelites. We pose no threat.’

That answered in large part the second question he would have asked, but he was still unsure of the nature