At a huge country-house, not many years ago, some few days after the close of the Christmas and New Year’s festivities, the usual family circle, with one exception, met at the breakfast-table. A man on horseback had just pulled up at the house-door with the family letter-bag from the nearest town. The letters and papers were handed to the head of the family, who glanced over the addresses with the quick eye of a practised man of business, and placed one of the letters on an empty plate reserved for the absent member of the party.
“Oh! For Susy!” exclaimed a young lady, who seemed put to her wits’ end to make herself still younger, for she was the elder daughter of the house, past twenty-six, and disengaged. “I should like to know whom that’s from! A gentleman’s hand, I declare!” And she eyed the characters with a searching scrutiny, but they would tell no more tales.
“Don’t be so curious, Matilda. I shall recommend Susy to keep her letter a secret,” said an obnoxious brother, by name Augustus, one year the junior of the first speaker.
“Yes! you would encourage her in every kind of deception, you would! She is quite artful enough,” answered Matilda. “If I were papa,I would soon see who sends the letter. What can make Susy late, this morning? She is invariably so regular.”
“No, child!” said a white-headed old gentleman, Mr. Foxville, the happy father of Matilda, Augustus, and Susan, his stock of direct descendants, and all told, “I never meddle with other people’s business. Susy is a good girl, and she will let me have any news that may interest me.”
“You are quite right; but she has a duty to her mamma,” said Mrs. Foxville, with a grand matronly air. “Papa allows me to open all his letters, though he never opens mine: and that’s as it should be. If Susy does not come down soon, as I am privileged, I will open the letter. It is a genteel hand, I perceive.
“Well, well,” observed Mr. Foxville, “patience, patience! We can wait.”
“She is my child, Mr. Foxville,” replied the matron.
“Shall I fetch Susy down?” asked Matilda, with curiosity fermenting within her.
“Do, my dear,” said Mrs. Foxville, laboring under the same complaint, but affecting more indifference.
With much nimbleness the sprightly Matilda dashed out of the room, having first made an attempt to carry off the letter.
“Stop!” cried Augustus, putting his hand on it. “Suppose you bring Susy to the letter, and not the letter to Susy! Fair is fair,” he added, with something like distrust in the fair letter-carrier.
In a few seconds Matilda and Susy entered the room, the arm of the elder affectionately wound round the waist of the younger sister.
“Are you not well, Susy?” asked Mr. Foxville kindly.
“Perfectly!” replied Susy, giving her papa his morning kiss.
“There is a letter for you,” said the enviable father.
“Thank you,” answered Susy, and she slipt the letter unopened into a little dress pocket, coloring and tremulous as she did so.
“I could not wait like you for the news, Susy,” said her mother frankly, as she watched her daughter closely.
“I would not be so rude as to read letters before others,” answered Susy.
“Not at all rude!” observed Mrs. Foxville, with one of her grand airs. “There is nobody here but the family: that makes all the difference. I would wish to make you sensible of that, my child. Etiquette should not be pushed too far when we areen famille.”
The last words were delivered with a deal of self-importance, as if she had just solved a new problem of politeness and was vain of her discovery.
“Of course!” cried Matilda. “Do not hesitate, Susy. I should not. I could not take matters so coolly. The letter may be from some dear, dear friend!”
“Take my advice, Susy,” said that horrible Augustus. “Breakfast first, and dessert afterwards.”
“Dessert indeed! It may be some dreadful intelligence. So none ofyour interference, Gussy!” rejoined Matilda.
“Then I would not spoil my appetite; and my recommendation holds good,” pursued that provoking brother.
“Ay! ay,” said Foxville senior; “your breakfast first, girl.” And this put an end to the dispute, for the old gentleman saw that Susy was pained at the discussion.
It was true, as Miss Matilda Foxville had observed, that her sister Susy was the most regular in that exemplary household whenever there was a demand on her energies in domestic affairs, or on her good nature in diffusing happiness and cheerfulness around her. The fact that she had deviated from her usual course into the exceptional irregularity referred to, naturally called for comment such as any strange occurrence would provoke; and the uninitiated as naturally puzzled themselves with unsatisfactory conjectures. But the plain truth was this: Susy’s absence was caused by nothing less than a consciousness that a particular letter would arrive for her that morning. She imagined that she should betray less concern about the letter, and keep her nerves more under control, by an apparently accidental absence of a few minutes from the breakfast-table, than if she ran the risk of being present at the opening of the post-bag, and of manifesting her expectation and her too probable excitement at its realization.
Susy had, as we have seen, only partially succeeded; but, under shelter of the timely command of her father, she managed to conceal a great deal of her uneasiness at the expense of a charge of indifferencetoward her correspondents—a charge she was disposed to invite rather than disprove.
This little ruse, however, she was unable to carry very much further; for Matilda, more and more perplexed, and proportionably more curious, than ever, became, after the morning meal, more endearing in both manner and speech towards her sister than was customary with one who generally adopted the language of admonition or complaint. It was very clear that these famous time-honored weapons for eliciting obedience and respect would fail in the present instance; and Matilda had not spent twenty-six years of her valuable existence without acquiring an amount of knowledge that led her to that certain conclusion. But wheedling and an implied solicitude for her sister’s welfare were more insidious and keener instruments to open the confidence-chest of the unsuspecting Susy.
“I hope you will have good news,” began Matilda when the sisters were alone. Then she added, as if some sudden idea struck her, “But I forgot! I will leave you and come again presently, Susy dear; you would like to read and answer your letter?”
What it was that Miss Matilda professed to have forgotten would puzzle most men; but it was a phrase habitual to her, and coming from a person of her experience, it probably conveyed all she intended to those of her own sex who enjoyed her familiarity. Susy, whether she understood the form of expression or not, was attracted by her sister’s winning ways and most unusual condescension, and was quite prepared to open her heart to her.
“Don’t go, Till,” she said, blushing. “I have something to say to you.”
“To me!” exclaimed the delighted Matilda with well-feigned surprise. “Pray tell me what it is!”
“It is the letter,” said Susy.
“Oh! that’s quite private,” pursued Matilda, “if I might judge by your putting it aside unopened.”
“But there is confidence between sisters?”
“Most undoubtedly. Would I not unbosom myself to you?”
“You shall, then, be the first to learn the news, but it must soon be family property,” said Susy, opening the letter, and reading it as Matilda looked over her shoulder. “I ought, perhaps, to show it to papa first,” she added, as a glow diffused itself over her face and neck.
“Yes; it is indeed matter for papa’s consideration: it is meant for him. But whom is it from?” said Matilda, in a fever to see the name on the last page, which Susy had not yet turned to.
“Nathaniel Wodehouse!” said Susy, in trembling accents, as she sank down on a chair to support herself in her novel situation.
“That trumpery fellow! faugh!” exclaimed Matilda boldly. “I would soon settle his business. Let me pen you a reply, will you?”
“Matilda! sister Till!” cried Susy in amazement, and recalled to herself. “How often have I heard you say what a charming, handsome man he is!”
“I! I!” said Matilda, ascending the gamut in her ejaculations. “I call him charming and handsome!” Then, with tremendous emphasis inspired by rage, she added, “Never!”
“Well, then,” followed up her merciless witness, roused by her sister’s vain denial, “heischarming and handsome! And you know it.”
Mr. Foxville was a retired butcher who had made a fortune, and still did a little business on ‘Change to keep his hand in, and preserve his mental faculties from rusting. Besides the newspaper, which many will contend was his “best public instructor,” he had not many intellectual resources; and as he allowed himself little recreation, he devoted a great deal of time to journal-reading and the study of stocks and the share-list. Here was a fair amount of work for a busy mind; and very busy was Mr. Foxville in keeping a sharp eye on his investments.
Being fond of a country life, he bought several acres of land when he gave up business; and he had built himself an unwieldy mansion, and was erecting smaller houses and cottages at a respectful distance from his own. This cluster of dwellings he proposed to call Foxville, while his own big, special habitation he called Foxville House. The name was not adopted without reflection, and more than one debate between himself and wife.
Foxville’s patronymic was simply Fox. That did very well for business, but it was deemed unsuited for higher exigencies. Foxtown was invented and discussed, but it gave no satisfaction. Was there anything distinguished in Foxtown? Nothing! Husband and wife were one on that point.
At length, Mrs. Fox bethought her of a French tutor to her girls, and that excellent gentleman bore the name of Portville. Monsieur Portville was a very agreeable man, to ladies especially; and that circumstance associated something pleasant with his name to the ear of Mrs. Fox. It was a habit with Mr. Fox,who could not remember names, to put the cart before the horse in endeavoring to call names to his recollection, and he always spoke of the Frenchman as Villeport. In facetious moments he would reduce this again to Vile Port, maintaining that this was the original name. Although it was by no means a complimentary cognomen, Mr. Fox had no intention of showing disrespect, for he had a rough kind of regard for the tutor, and only vented a poor joke at his expense, deriving his inspiration perhaps from the remembrance of a compound beverage familiar to Fox in his younger days in the country which had the honor of his birth. If Portville was euphonious, why not Foxville? Such was the argument of Mrs. Fox, and that settled the question.
Mrs. Foxville was the daughter of a grocer, who had so many daughters that all he could do for them was to make them a home and allow them a limited portion for their wardrobe—totally insufficient, according to their unanimous opinion, for their position! Mrs. Foxville was the oldest, and was the first to enter into wedlock. She would have scorned an alliance with a butcher, so superior did she think her father’s calling, though on what grounds she never clearly stated; but the prosperity of young Fox proved a compensation strong enough to convert a woman’s uprising negative into a positive affirmative.
The correctness of the lady’s judgment could not be questioned in the days that lengthened Fox into Foxville. She continued, however, to regard herself as more than the equal of her husband; and she always spoke of my house, my family, my children Matilda, Augustus, and Susy, as if poor Foxville had no concernor partnership in the property. Sometimes he would slip in ‘our’ in place of ‘my,’ and he always spoke in this manner himself, but both the correction or amendment and the example had no effect on the ‘singular’ appropriation, which seemed, it may be supposed, to convey higher origin and standing than if lowered by a joint ownership.
Miss Matilda Foxville’s characteristics have sufficiently developed themselves, and Augustus, beyond being a plague to his elder sister, had no character at all. He was an existence, and little more; still, he was not without importance as the heir of a goodly estate.
Foxville House never failed to throw open its hospitable portals during Christmas week, and, not many days before the receipt of Susy’s letter, a large number of guests had found a warm welcome within them. Nathaniel Wodehouse was invariably the life of these social gatherings, and in the estimation of the Misses Foxville evidently he possessed qualifications for the prominent part he took. He stood high in favor with Miss Matilda, there is no denying the fact. For him more than for any other male thing, she chignoned, and painted, and got herself up in the best style of fashion. She nearly succeeded in reducing twenty-six to twenty by other than arithmetical rules. But what, after all, are twenty-six summers? No great span in the life of a really handsome woman; yet, in Miss Matilda, so unpliable was her disposition, and so set was her general deportment, that candor must admit that the six years beyond twenty had produced a perceptible difference. She made the best of them, however, for Nathaniel Wodehouse.
Can it be wondered at, therefore, that she thought he had some appreciativetaste? He was charming and good-looking most certainly; and he was very gallant, as he ought to have been, to Miss Foxville. No one invited him with moreempressementthan Matilda did to revisit Foxville House. Susy was shy and reserved; Matilda had outlived all that, and safely pronounced Nathaniel excellent company: so did Mrs. Foxville—so did Mr. Foxville. Augustus had no settled conviction on this head; and Susy was silent.
Even when Matilda spoke to her under sisterly secrecy, and used the epithets which she subsequently wished to revoke, Susy committed herself no further than by an exclamation of “Do you think so?” accompanied by a smile of doubtful acquiescence. When, however, Matilda, repenting of her admission, boldly denied it, Susy, as we have seen; held her to it unflinchingly.
It is sometimes good to come after others, and Scripture, politeness, and good sense forbid our presumptuously taking the best places. Susy enjoyed in this respect an advantage which nature had given her. She had all the benefit of being eight years younger than her sister, for she was at once the youngest, the prettiest, and the most amiable of the Foxvilles. Nathaniel would have been blind indeed if he had not made that discovery; and what that discovery led to, the intimated tenor of his letter has abundantly proved. One result, however, he had not foreseen, and that was the burning jealousy it excited in the bosom of Matilda Foxville, although hewasprepared to incur her displeasure.
Foxville House always was in commotion when Matilda had a hand init. When she was agitated, her agitation vibrated in every part of that spacious dwelling; and now she was stung to madness in such a way by Susy’s taunt that she rushed about like a maniac on fire. It was her worst policy, but she had lost the rudder of her discretion, and she cast herself adrift on the surging waves of her own fury.
From one apartment to another she flew in a whirlwind of passion in search of her mother, whom she would have found very near to Susy’s room if she had not darted downstairs with headlong precipitation. Up-stairs she flew again, and at length flounced into the room in which Mrs. Foxville was eagerly awaiting the issue of the consultation between her daughters.
“What has happened, Matilda?” asked Mrs. Foxville. “Your look startles me.”
“You will be startled!” gasped Matilda.
“Calm yourself, my child, and tell at your leisure what is amiss,” replied the mother, her words being at variance with her feverish anxiety for the news.
“What do you think, mamma? Nathaniel Wodehouse has had the audacity to propose to Susy!”
“Nathaniel Wodehouse! Without means! A beggar! I shall put a stop to that. No genteel poverty for me or either of my girls!”
“I was sure that you would save poor Susy! What is the use of his gentility with nothing to support it?”
“You always were sensible, Matilda; and no doubt Susy is wise enough to see the matter in the same light.”
“There you mistake, mamma; Susy is such a weak fool! The silly thing is over head and ears in love withhim. She idolizes him! It is positively awful—wicked!”
“Oh! that’s it, is it? And without asking my opinion? Deliberate disobedience! Let me see her this moment. I must talk to her!”
Forthwith the mother and elder daughter sought out the unfortunate Susy, and joined in giving her one of those ‘talkings to,’ as they termed them, which only ladies can inflict on one another. Susy let fall a tear or two, made very short replies, for she could scarcely squeeze a word in, and bore her rebukes with exemplary patience, contenting herself with asserting that she would comply with the request of the letter and lay it before her father.
“Let me catch you showing the letter to your father this day!” exclaimed Mrs. Foxville indignantly.
“To-morrow will do,” replied Susy. “Papa must see it.”
It was then agreed that Susy should reserve the letter for her father’s perusal next day, on Mrs. Foxville consenting to take the blame for delay on her own shoulders; and it was finally stipulated that both the elder Foxville and Augustus should be kept in the dark for the next twenty-four hours.
Mrs. Foxville did not, however, consider herself bound by this contract, though not the least important of the high contracting parties. In fact, she intended to turn the interval to what she deemed the best account. Accordingly, she seized the opportunity which Mrs. Caudle, as depicted by Douglas Jerrold, devoted to curtain lectures, and plainly gave Mr. Foxville to understand that “she wouldn’t have it,” meaning the match in question, for she stated she knew that Wodehouse was as poor as a church mouse. “He was all outside show,”she said—“all flimsy, with no backbone.” She added that “that wouldn’t do for her girls,” and, having warned her husband at great length and with great force, she concluded her lecture by observing, “And now you know your duty to my child, and I shall expect you to perform it.”
“Our child, my dear—our dear Susy is entitled to the best counsel I can give her.”
“I knew you would take her part!” cried Mrs. Foxville. “Dear Susy, indeed! She is a very bad Susy. I would have you, Mr. Foxville, respect a mother’s feelings!”
“Well, well; yes, yes, to be sure I will,” replied the husband, who was as valiant as an ox and nearly as strong in muscle, but was now in dread of a second lecture. “I will, you may depend upon it.”
With this promise on his lips he composed himself to sleep, after having first noticed its soothing effect—for which he took credit to himself—on his partner.
The next day, Mr. Foxville had some conversation alone with Susy. A little kindness soon reassured her, and, like a true-hearted daughter, she did not attempt to conceal her attachment to Nathaniel from her father. She opened her mind to him, and promised to abide by his advice; and on the question of questions—that of fortune—she professed her belief that Nathaniel Wodehouse would not be found in the forlorn condition in which her mamma and sister, in spite of her, had insisted. She acknowledged that she had no proof of this but her lover’s word, which, she said, Matilda had derided. Her lover’s word! that was all—sufficient for Susy! But she approved of her father’s fully satisfying himself on this point, as a duty to his family and to her.
There are several ways of giving advice. It is a favorite plan with some to administer it as they would physic, and the more nauseous it is, the more they seem to like administering it; and they would quarrel with their best friend for not taking it. Even among the more considerate, not every one has the modesty not to have his equanimity disturbed by having his advice asked and then disregarded. Mr. Foxville was not one of either of these classes. He might allowably be a little more positive in counselling his own daughter, but practically he followed in her regard his usual method, heedless of all the admonitions of his better half. That method was to pile up all the pros and cons which occurred to him on both sides of a question, and leave his client very much to his own decision. In effect, this was to offer no advice at all, but the course of proceedings looked grave and offended no one, while it enabled him to remain true to his maxim of never meddling in other people’s business. The only stumbling-block with Mr. Foxville, in the present instance, was a suitable position for his daughter, and that he would look into as a matter of imperative necessity. The rest he would leave to those most vitally interested, after his usual formal statement of all the disadvantages, which always came first, and then the advantages of the case under consideration. Susy was accordingly much comforted by her father’s good sense and feeling, instead of being cowed and heart-broken as Mrs. Foxville and Matilda had expected to see her.
“You are a perfect fool!” said Mrs. Foxville to her husband on observing Susy’s cheerful face after thetête-à-tête. “You have not the nerve to manage my child! I must take herin hand, poor noodle that she is. Ha! she is just like you. There’s a nice pair for you!”
Mr. Foxville attached little importance to these disparaging remarks, with the like of which he was familiar; but he invariably did things his own way, and left consequences to take care of themselves. He responded, therefore, good-humoredly:
“Not too hasty, my dear! I shall see Nathaniel Wodehouse, whether you approve of it or not. That is all I have to say.”
And Foxville kept his word, for he resolutely refrained from opening his lips to renew the discussion. Not so Mrs. Foxville. She had a very great deal to say, but eventually wound up by the following menace:
“Beware how you ruin my child! You shall answer for it. I’ll let you know whether I am to be nobody in my own house!”
The tremendous ferment which shook the Foxvilles at length began to act upon Augustus. That young man had his own view of Susy’s conduct.
“I tell you what, Susy,” said he, “Wodehouse is no gentleman. He is a sneak. Didn’t he get the better of me in an examination before old Dr. Playfair, and when I challenged him to fight it out, and prove who was the better man, didn’t he decline? A pretty thing to marry a man like that. Marry him, Susy, and see what I will do!”
Poor Susy was now regarded by all her family, with the exception of her father, who remained silent, as a reprobate and outcast. When she sat down to her meals, she was treated as if she were supported by charity. At other times she was watched like a criminal. Her fortitude and good conscience, nevertheless, sustained her under her unmerited wrongs.
In the meantime, the two gentlemen, Foxville and Wodehouse, conferred together. Mrs. Foxville at first insisted on being present; but it was to no purpose. Mr. Foxville’s hardihood gave him the victory. He was declared to be the most obstinate of men; he bore the imputation and triumphed.
“What good have you done?” sneered Mrs. Foxville, when the meeting was over.
“Our Susy and Nathaniel will be man and wife!” replied the imperturbable Foxville.
“Oh!” was the sole response, in a tone that boded little harmony if the baffled Mrs. Foxville could have her way.
“Ay, ay,” continued Foxville. “Nat’s the richest man within a dozen miles of this place. I tell you, I have proof of it. Look, there’s alittlepresent, as he called it, for you!”
Foxville pulled out of his pocket a magnificent set of jewels in the neatest of morocco cases, and handed the gift to his wife.
What a transformation on the countenance and in the manner of Mrs. Foxville! Who could have suggested such a happy idea to Nathaniel as the magical present which turned out to be such a talisman of power? That secret was never known but to Susy and Nathaniel, and it cannot be divulged.
As Mrs. Foxville gazed with rapture on the jewels, her eyes vied in sparkling with the diamonds.
“Well, I cannot help forgiving him!” exclaimed the pacified lady. “Who would have thought this of Nathaniel Wodehouse? Twelve months ago I know he was scarcely worth a penny. But are you quite sure that you have not been taken in?”
“Trust old Foxville for that, eh?I have seen how he came by his money. Old Simpson, his uncle, died last March, and left him sole heir.”
“Simpson his uncle! A good family! My father knew him well.”
Mrs. Foxville’s was not altogether a vain boast: the late Mr. Simpson had been the best customer at her father’s grocery.
Augustus now joined his parents unexpectedly.
“Gussy, my boy,” cried his father, “Nat is the happy man, after all! He could buy up all of Foxville if he chose. He wants you to dine with him at his club to-morrow. Do as you like. I meddle in no man’s business!”
“Of course I will! He is a better fellow than I took him to be,” said the sensible Augustus. “And here comes Susy,” he added, seeing his sister approaching.
“Susy, we congratulate you,” exclaimed the overjoyed father. “The course of true love runs smoothly a little too soon, eh?”
Susy blushed scarlet.
“Kiss me, my darling girl,” said Mrs. Foxville.
“Bravo!” sang out Augustus.
“But Till must hear the news! Let me fetch Matilda!” And he ran off with all speed, and soon returned with his sister.
“I told you I had something to show you,” said he, addressing Matilda. “Look at that picture! We only want Nat to make us thoroughly jolly. You will make a superb bridesmaid, Till, though I say it!”
“Not I indeed!” replied Matilda, with a grand toss of her head.
“You won’t for Susy?” the terrible Augustus went on. “That’s cruel of you; but I’ll give you a chance. So don’t despair; it’s often a first step to matrimony!”
Matilda bit her lip till it nearly bled, but she suffered not a word to escape her.
“For shame, Gussy!” cried Susy, as she flung herself, half-smiling, half-crying, on her sister’s neck.
* * * * *
With great adroitness Nathaniel eventually made his peace with Matilda, though it was rather a truce than a peace; but sufficient harmony was in a little time restored to Foxville House to make Susy’s wedding go off withéclat.
[The following narrative of the imprisonment and execution of certain Dominicans, by the Paris Commune, in May of last year, is translated from an account drawn up in French, under the eyes and, in a measure, at the dictation of witnesses who shared the captivity of the martyrs, and survived their fate only by a providential interposition which seems little less than miraculous. It was written merely to preserve, in the archives of the order, an authentic record of the circumstances which it, commemorates; but it glows with examples of Christian heroism and charity which ought not to be lost to the world at large. The branch of the Dominicans which gives this company of martyrs to the church was founded by Father Lacordaire shortly after the passing of the law of 1850, which, by abridging the exclusive privileges of the university of Paris, conferred upon the religious orders in France the right of opening schools and colleges, a right for which Lacordaire and Montalembert had battled for twenty years. Father Captier was one of the original company of four novices with whom Father Lacordaire founded, in 1852, the new order of Teaching Dominicans.]
In the spring of 1863, eighteen months after the death of Father Lacordaire, certain religious of the Third (Teaching) Order of Dominicans, having as their head theRev.Father Captier, were sent to establish, in the house formerly belonging to Berthollet, a college under the name of the Blessed Albertus Magnus. Itwas a difficult task, and from the outset was met by the government with an opposition equally obstinate and hypocritical. In order to prevent the virtual abrogation of the law of 1850, to which France is now indebted for such a gallant multitude of faithful instructors, the contest opened by Father Lacordaire, in 1831, in the matter of the free schools, had to be commenced anew. Deprived of their religious habit, and harassed by incessant and discreditable vexations, Father Captier and his companions nevertheless stood bravely at their post of honor. At last, after two years of labor and experiment, they were permitted to enjoy in peace the protection of the law, and to speak freely to their pupils according to the inspiration of their hearts and their faith.
The establishment at Arcueil, founded in trouble, thenceforward prospered without interruption, and grew apace under the watchful and affectionate care of Father Captier. He seemed to know every member of the community to his inmost heart. He cared for every one with a religious and at the same time manly tenderness. There was not one to whom he failed to do good. With the performance of these duties he combined an active interest in all questions relating to the education of youth, and opposed with all his might the encroachment of the system of godless schools which has since been so audaciously imposed upon Parisian families. Appointed a member of the Commission d’Enseignement Supérieur, as the most thoroughrepresentative of the free schools, he brought to the service of that board the experience of twenty years, the devout aspirations of his holy community, and the enthusiasm of a spirit earnest in the cause of enlightenment and holy liberty. When he returned to his cell, he resumed the cares of a soul which aimed to be wholly and profoundly immersed in the religious life. He concerned himself about the progress of all his brethren and pupils in observing the rules of the community, well knowing that the best means of doing good to souls is to draw from God the courage and the light which one needs in order to serve them.
Such was the state of affairs at Arcueil when the war broke out. The school then contained nearly three hundred pupils. In an establishment where religion and patriotism were both so warmly cherished, the first thought of every one was to do his utmost to aid France in her struggle against the foreigner. The pupils raised a large contribution for the relief of the victims of the coming campaigns. The religious gave their persons. Three of them joined the ambulances and passed the winter on the fields of battle, while the others devoted themselves in the college premises to taking care of the wounded victims of the siege of Paris. About fifteen hundred sick and wounded soldiers were thus treated in the college ambulance; and it was a devotion all the more meritorious because Arcueil, situated on the French outposts, was constantly under the fire of the German artillery.
After the siege, the school of Arcueil reopened its doors to pupils, and in March resumed its classes and its regular life. Then came the civil war. Placed between Fort Montrouge, Fort Bicêtre, and the redoubt of Hautes Bruyères, the schoolfound itself within the lines of the Paris Commune. Instead of abandoning their house, the fathers resolved to continue their services to the wounded. They displayed on the front of the building the flag of the Geneva Convention, and, with the aid of the assistant masters whom the peace had collected around them, they began to traverse the battlefields on the south of Paris, gathering up the wounded and burying the dead. Within the college, the poor soldiers, whether regulars or federals, were tended by the charitable hands of the Sisters ofSt.Martha. At first the communists respected this self-sacrifice. The less violent of them were pleased to be so well cared for by the Dominicans of Arcueil. Many requisitions, nevertheless, were made upon the institution, and the house was ransacked from top to bottom, but nothing was found in it except the evidence of a charity which no rebuffs could discourage. The religious continued with unremitting zeal to relieve the wounded on the field of battle, and awaited patiently the triumph of justice and liberty. A number of battalions of the National Guard were thus brought into contact with the school. Several of them showed gratitude and even a sort of sympathy, but so far as that went everything depended upon the officers. Thus, the 101st Battalion, commanded by one Cerisier, a convict “who had been three times sentenced to death, and believed neither in God nor in man,” far from showing any good-will, seemed hardly willing to forgive the religious for their charitable labors in its behalf.
On the 17th of May, several events happened which greatly excited and alarmed the insurgents. A cartridge factory exploded in the Avenue Rapp, that is to say, within theenceinteof Paris, and at leastsix kilometres from Arcueil. Several posts in the valley of the Bièvre were surprised and overpowered at the point of the bayonet. Finally, a few paces from the school, the château of the Marquis de Laplace, occupied by the federals as a barrack, was burned. It was determined that the communists of Arcueil should be held to an accountability for these wholly unconnected occurrences, and the federals required nothing more to justify them in ordering an arrest.
On Friday, the 19th of May, between four and five o’clock in the afternoon, the school of Arcueil, which then contained twenty wounded brought in the night before from the field of battle, received a visit from Citizens Leo Meillet and Lucy Pyat, envoys from the Commune of Paris, and wearing the red scarf; Thaler, a Prussian, sub-governor of the Fort of Bicêtre; and Cerisier, commander of the 101st Battalion of the Paris National Guard. While these gentlemen were entering at the main door, the 101st and 120th Battalions surrounded the premises, broke down the enclosure, and forced their way in at every entrance, leaving sentinels here and there with orders to shoot anybody who attempted to go out. At the demand of Leo Meillet, Father Captier presented himself. An order from the Commune was shown him, setting forth no complaint or legal excuse, but commanding all the members of the community, from the prior down to the last of the kitchen servants, to submit themselves to the commands of the delegates. Half an hour was granted them for the necessary preparations. The bell was rung to call the household together, and Lucy Pyat, taking this for a suspicious signal, threatened to shoot the child who had committed such a crime. One by one, the religious, the assistant teachers, the sisters,the domestics, and the seven or eight pupils remaining in the house gathered around Father Captier. When the word was given to depart, they all fell down upon their knees, and with tears in their eyes asked his blessing. “My children,” he said to them, “you see what has happened. No doubt you are going to be questioned; be frank and sincere, as if you were speaking to your parents. Remember the counsel they gave you when they trusted you to our care; and whatever happens, bear in mind that you must be men who can live and can die like Frenchmen and like Christians. Adieu! May the blessing of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost descend upon you, and remain with you always, always!”
Then the fatal journey was arranged. The horses and wagons of the school were seized, and the vehicles were first filled with the sisters and female domestics. They were forbidden any communication with each other by word or gesture, or any signal of farewell, under penalty of being shot. They were taken first to the Conciergerie and afterwards to Saint Lazare (the prison for abandoned women), whence they were released on the Tuesday following by the arrival of the Versailles troops, before the miscreants of the Commune could execute the horrid threats of which they were the objects during these four days. The pupils were also to have been carried off, but, thanks to a misunderstanding on the part of the federal chiefs, their arrest was suspended. Later it was proposed to convey them to the Hôtel de Ville, and even to the barricades, but nothing was done, and they remained tolerably at ease in a remote part of the house, under the signally intelligent and devoted care of the young Jacques de La Perrière,whose conduct in these trying days was above all praise.
When all the others were gone, the fathers, the professors, and the male servants were brought down into the first court, and surrounded by the men of the 101st and 120th Battalions. The door opened, and the sad cortège began its march towards the Fort of Bicêtre, situated three kilometres from the school. They first passed through the streets of Arcueil. The inhabitants looked on in silence, though their sympathies were all with the prisoners. “When they passed our door,” said a poor woman, “and I saw Father Captier and all these messieurs, who had done us so much good, marching in the midst of the muskets, I imagined it was Jesus Christ with his disciples going to Jerusalem to be crucified.” At Gentilly, which they were next obliged to traverse, the popular feeling was very different, and the most outrageous language was used towards the prisoners.
It was seven o’clock in the evening when the column arrived at the fort. The captives were first locked up in a small room where, insulted in the grossest manner, they were forced to wait their turn to appear before the governor of the fort, and go through the formality of registering on the books of the prison. These formalities lasted a long time, the number was so large. Each man was submitted to the pretence of an examination, though there was no question of any crime or misdemeanor, nor any indictment whatever. Then they were searched, and stripped of everything they carried (even the breviaries were taken away), and conducted to CasemateNo.10, which faces the entrance to the fort.[120]Itwas nearly midnight when Father Captier and the other religious were placed here. Their companions followed in small parties, and about two o’clock the door closed upon the last of them. It was never to open for them again till they went out to their death.
This first night was very severe. The casemate contained only a few remnants of damp straw, already spoiled and broken up by some Bavarian soldiers, and each man had to grope for a clean spot on the bare floor. When morning came, they sought for some alleviation of their wretched condition. By dint of earnest representation, they got some bundles of fresh straw, and after a few days the breviaries were restored to the religious. Father Captier succeeded in obtaining paper and pencil, and addressed a communication to the governor of the fort. He thus secured the liberation of two lads, Emile Delaitre and Paul Lair, who had been imprisoned with the other servants of the school. He had more difficulty in obtaining the favor of a serious examination, for thus far the twenty-five prisoners were absolutely ignorant of the cause of their arrest. Something, at any rate, was granted: on Sunday afternoon, Fathers Captier and Cotrault were led before Citizen Lucy Pyat, who, after a long conversation,informed them that they were to be considered neither as condemned nor accused, nor even prisoners, but they were merely held as witnesses. He was a prophet, though he did not know it; for God had chosen them to bear witness, with their blood, to the glory of his holy name.
It was hoped that the examinations would be resumed on the following day (Monday), but this was not done. On the contrary, the officers in command at the fort held no further communication with the prisoners. It is probable that in thus keeping away they yielded to the wishes of their men; for, while the officers preserved an appearance of civility in the presence of the fathers, their subordinates constantly redoubled their outrages, and took all pains to render them more and more gross. Drunken and infamous creatures showed themselves every few minutes before the windows of the casemate, jeering at the prisoners, loading them with unmentionable epithets, or reading aloud, with infinite gusto, the most shameless articles from the Communist newspapers. One day, they saw the sub-governor of the fort, cap in hand, ushering Father Captier into his prison after some sort of an examination. This mark of respect so exasperated the federal soldiers that they raised a great disturbance at the door of the casemate, and thenceforth the provisions for the prisoners were regularly plundered or intercepted on the way; for two days the captives were denied even a cup of water. On Wednesday, the 24th, an execution took place in the courtyard of the fort, directly under their eyes. It was made the occasion of redoubled menaces and heartless allusions. The same day, the Abbé Féron, chaplain of the Hospital of Bicêtre, went in search of the governor of the fort, and asked to be entrusted with the custody of the membersof the Arcueil community, offering to answer for them with his life until they could be judged. This generous effort was unavailing. The Commune had already settled everything. The school was to be pillaged and burned.[121]As for the prisoners, they belonged to the 101st Battalion and its commander, who would dispose of them according to circumstances.
What were the thoughts of the victims during this long week of agony? Their companions in captivity tell us that a gentle cheerfulness never ceased to prevail in that wretched dungeon. With the exception of some of the servants, married men and fathers of families, whose attitude and manner were somewhat gloomy and dejected, every one pursued his ordinary way of life—not that they forgot or despised death, but because they had offered to God the sacrifice of their lives for France. The religious redoubled their usual devotion, encouraged each other and exhorted their companions. Every evening they said the rosary together, adding the usual mementos for their absent brethren. From time to time, Father Captier, though completely broken down by fatigue and privation, roused himself to give a pious reading, or to address the words of life and salvation to those who looked up to him as their chief. Outside, the federals gathered around to mock at their prayers. One morning, when the horizon was red with flames in the direction of Paris, Father Captier was pacing to and fro, saying his office, and some one cried to him through the window, “Oh, yes! you had better pray God not to let the torpedoes that the city is full of explode!” “I am doing it,” answered the good father sadly and quietly; and then,finishing his breviary, he asked his companions to pray with him.
On Thursday, the 25th, at daybreak, an extraordinary activity was observed inside the fortress. Guns were removed and spiked, and the bugles blew the assembly. At one time, the prisoners believed that the fort had been wholly evacuated, and they had only to wait the arrival of the Versailles troops to secure’ their liberty.
But this hope was of short duration. A body of armed men appeared at the door of the casemate in considerable confusion. As they had not the keys, they forced an entrance with blows from the butt-ends of their muskets, and ordered the captives to start immediately with the column, which was retiring into Paris. “You are free,” said they, “only we must not leave you in the hands of the Versaillists. You must follow us to themairieof the Gobelins, and then you will go to Paris, or wherever you like.”
The march was long and painful. Every instant the prisoners were threatened with death. The women showed themselves especially furious, and eager to witness the death of these men who wore a sacred garb. They moved down towards the gate of Ivry, and on the road a few rifle-shots from Bicêtre caused a little disturbance, of which Father Rousselin took advantage to slip away and return to Arcueil. The others continued their journey towards Paris. Arriving at themairieof the Gobelins, in the midst of cries of “death!” from the crowd maddened at the approach of the regular army, it was in vain that they reminded their guard of the liberty promised them. They were told, “The streets are not safe; you will be killed by the people; remain here.” They were taken into the court of themairie, and made to sit onthe ground, exposed to the falling shells. Here the federals brought the corpses of their victims, to show “ces canailles” how the Commune served its enemies. At the end of half an hour an officer appeared, and took them to theprison disciplinaireof the 9thsecteur,No.38 Avenue d’Italie. As soon as they entered, the captives of Arcueil recognized the 101st Battalion and its chief, Citizen Cerisier, that is, the same who had made their arrest. It was then ten o’clock in the morning. About half-past two, a man in a red shirt threw open the door of the hall, and cried out, “Get up,soutanes; they are going to take you to the barricade.” The fathers went out, and, with the Abbé Grancolas and the others, were conducted towards the barricade thrown up in front of themairieof the Gobelins. There they were offered muskets to fight with. “We are priests,” said they, “and, besides, we are non-combatants in virtue of our service in the ambulance. We shall not take arms. All that we can do is to relieve your wounded and bear away the dead.” “Is this your fixed purpose?” asked the officer of the Commune. “It is.” Then they were taken back to the prison, with an escort of federals and women armed with muskets. Once locked up, they thought of nothing but preparations for the last journey. They all knelt, made a final offering of the sacrifice of their lives, confessed, and received absolution. They were not to have the dying Christian’s last consolation, the divine viaticum. God did not judge this grace necessary for them; and, besides, from the prison to heaven the journey was to be so short!
About half-past four, a new order came from Citizen Cerisier. All the prisoners filed out into the lane which leads up to the prison, while thefederals of the 101st Battalion loaded their muskets with significant noise. Already every man was at his place. Platoons were stationed at the corners of all the neighboring streets. It is said that Citizen Cerisier sat in a carriage on the avenue, with a woman by his side. This is the manner in which he presided over executions under the Commune of Paris. Then the word of command was heard: “Go out into the street, one by one!” Father Captier turned half round towards his companions, and said, “Come, my friends; it is for the good God!”
The massacre began at once. Father Cotrault went out first, and fell mortally wounded. Father Captier was hit by a ball which broke his leg, and was struck down by another ball at a distance of more than a hundred metres, near the spot where the insurgents of June, 1848, massacred General Bréa. Father Bourard, also, after receiving one wound, was able to go a few steps in the same direction before he fell under a second discharge. Fathers Delhorme and Chatagneret were shot down instantly. M. Gauquelin fell with them. M. Voland and five of the servants (Aimé Gros, Marce, Cheminal, Dintroz, and Cathala) went out of the lane behind the fathers, and had time to cross the Avenue d’Italie, but were killed before they could find shelter.
The other prisoners managed to escape.[122]The Abbé Grancolas, barely touched by a bullet, got into a house, where a woman disguised him in her husband’s clothes. M. Rézillot was only slightly wounded. MM. Edouard Bertrand, Gauvin, Delaitre, Brouho, and Duché found shelter insome of the houses or neighboring caves, and afterwards in the ranks of the national army. How impenetrable are the designs of God! If he had permitted our soldiers to arrive only one hour sooner, all the martyrs of Arcueil would have been saved.
The fury of the assassins was not sated by the massacre. They fell upon the bodies of the dead, tore off their clothing, pierced them with bayonets, and with their axes broke their limbs and crushed their bleeding heads. The soldiers of the 113th Regiment, who passed this spot in triumph after surmounting the barricades, comprehended the glorious fate of the martyrs, and, bending over them, took the rosaries from their girdles, and divided them, bead by bead, as sacred relics. But after they had gone their way, the work of profanation was resumed, and for more than fifteen hours the bodies remained exposed to every imaginable outrage.
The next morning the Abbé Guillemette, a priest of that quarter, came across the corpses, and, noticing that they wore a religious habit, made inquiry into the circumstances of the assassination. He caused the sacred remains to be immediately collected, and taken to the house of the brethren in the Rue du Moulin-des-Prés. There a professor from Arcueil, M. d’Arsac, identified the bodies, indicated the name of each, and claimed for them the respect due to martyrs in a holy cause. At the same time, M. Durand, curé of Arcueil, and M. Eugène Lavenant, the Mayor, were informed of the death of the Dominicans, their friends and their companions in the hour of danger. They both came together to ask for the remains of the victims, and removed them to Arcueil. It was desired to bury them within the enclosure of the school, where FatherRousselin awaited them, with Jacques de La Perrière, and the pupils who had remained faithful to the house. But it would have been necessary to submit to long formalities, and the bodies were so dreadfully bruised that there was no time even to make them coffins. The hearse, followed by a great crowd of people deeply agitated with grief and anger, was driven to the common cemetery. There the martyrs lie side by side in one grave, with no shroud but their blood-stained vestments.
This undistinguished tomb ought not to be the last resting-place of the martyrs of Arcueil. Father Captier and his companions will sleep in the shadow of the school which their labor founded and their blood renders henceforth illustrious. Not only the religious who were the brethren of the victims, and the pupils who were their children, but all who care for religion and country, will come to pray at their sepulchre, and meditate upon the lessons of their death.
[120]The following is a list of the prisoners:In the Fort of Bicêtre.—Father Captier, prior of the school of Arcueil; Bourard, chaplain; Delhorme, regent of studies; Cotrault, procurator; Rousselin, censor; Chatagneret, professor—all professed religious of the Third (Teaching) Order ofSt.Dominic, except F. Bourard, who belonged to the Order of Preaching Friars; MM. Voland, Gauquelin, L’Abbé Grancolas, Edouard Bertrand, Rézillot, Petit, and Gauvin, assistant masters; MM. Aimé Gros, Marce, Cathala, Joseph Cheminal, Dintroz, Simon Brouho, Duché, Bussi, Schepens, Delaitre (father and son), and Paul Lair, servants of the school.In the Prison of Saint Lazare.—Mother Aloysia Ducos, superior of the Sisters ofSt.Martha; Sisters Elisabeth Poirier, Louise Marie Carriquiry, Louis de Gonzague Dorfin, and Mélanie Gatineaud; Mmes. Angèle Marce, Marguerite Cathala, Clara Delaitre, and the widow Guégon; Miles, Gertrude Faas, Catherine Morvan, and Louise Cathala (aged 8 years).
[121]In point of fact, the school was plundered on the 25th of May. There was no time to burn it.
[122]To this day the fate of M. Petit is not positively known. There is reason to believe that he escaped the first fusillade, but was recaptured by the federals and shot by them at one of the barricades. It is apparently of him that the Abbé Lesmayoux speaks in a letter to theUnivers.
“Dilectus meus mihi, et ego illi.”[123]—Cant.ii.16.