I have told you, sir, that my cell now consisted of four bare walls and a bed;—it was a scandalous, degrading sight. I was kneeling in the middle of the floor, God knows, without the least idea of producing an effect. The Bishop gazed around him for some time, while the ecclesiastics who attended him testified their horror by looks and attitudes that needed no interpretation. The Bishop, after a pause, turned to the Superior, “Well, what do you say to this?”
The Superior hesitated, and at last said, “I was ignorant of this.”
“That is false,” said the Bishop; “and even if it was true, it would be your crimination, not your apology. Your duty binds you to visit the cells every day; how could you be ignorant of the shameful state of this cell, without neglecting your own duties?” He took several turns about the cell, followed by the ecclesiastics, shrugging their shoulders, and throwing on each other looks of disgust. The Superior stood dismayed. They went out, and I could hear the Bishop say, in the passage, “All this disorder must be rectified before I quit the house.” And to the Superior, “You are unworthy of the situation you hold—you ought to be deposed.” And he added in severer tones, “Catholics, monks, Christians, this is shocking—horrible! tremble for the consequences of my next visit, if the same disorders exist—I promise you it shall be repeated soon.” He then returned, and standing at the door of my cell, said to the Superior, “Take care that all the abuses committed in this cell are rectified before tomorrow morning.” The Superior signified his submission to this order in silence.
That evening I went to sleep on a bare mattress, between four dry walls. I slept profoundly, from exhaustion and fatigue. I awoke in the morning far beyond the time for matins, and found myself surrounded by all the comforts that can be bestowed on a cell. As if magic had been employed during my sleep, crucifix, breviary, desk, table, everything was replaced. I sprung from bed, and actually gazed in ecstasy around my cell. As the day advanced, and the hour for refection approached, my ecstasy abated, and my terrors increased;—it is not easy to pass from extreme humiliation and utter abhorrence, to your former state in the society of which you are a member. When the bell rung I went down. I stood at the door for a moment—then, with an impulse, like despair, I entered, and took my usual place. No opposition was made—not a word was said. The community separated after dinner. I watched for the toll of the bell for vespers—I imagined that would be decisive. The bell tolled at last—the monks assembled. I joined them without opposition—I took my place in the choir—my triumph was complete, and I trembled at it. Alas! in what moment of success do we not feel a sensation of terror? Our destiny always acts the part of the ancient slave to us, who was required every morning to remind the monarch that he was a man; and it seldom neglects to fulfil its own predictions before the evening. Two days passed away—the storm that had so long agitated us, seemed to have sunk into a sudden calm. I resumed my former place—I performed the customary duties—no one congratulated or reviled me. They all seemed to consider me as one beginning monastic life de novo. I passed two days of perfect tranquillity, and I take God to witness, I enjoyed this triumph with moderation. I never reverted to my former situation—I never reproached those who had been agents in it—I never uttered a syllable on the subject of the visitation, which had made me and the whole convent change places in the space of a few hours, and the oppressed take the part (if he pleased) of the oppressor. I bore my success with temperance, for I was supported by the hope of liberation. The Superior’s triumph was soon to come.
On the third morning I was summoned to the parlour, where a messenger put into my hands a packet, containing (as I well understood) the result of my appeal. This, according to the rules of the convent, I was compelled to put first into the hands of the Superior to read, before I was permitted to read it myself. I took the packet, and slowly walked to the Superior’s apartment. As I held it in my hand, I considered it, felt every corner, weighed it over and over again in my hand, tried to catch an omen from its very shape. Then a withering thought crossed me, that, if its intelligence was auspicious, the messenger would have put it into my hands with an air of triumph, that, in spite of convent etiquette, I might break open the seals which enclosed the sentence of my liberation. We are very apt to take our presages from our destination, and mine being that of a monk, no wonder its auguries were black—and were verified.
I approached the Superior’s cell with the packet. I knocked, was desired to enter, and, my eyes cast down, could only distinguish the hems of many habits, whose wearers were all assembled in the Superior’s apartment. I offered the packet with reverence. The Superior cast a careless eye over it, and then flung it on the floor. One of the monks approached to take it up. The Superior exclaimed, “Hold, let him take it up.”
