6

mind. Her principal aim was the spiritual good of her flock. She considered that the sole choice lay between not being abbess at all, or fulfilling to the letter the requirements of the office, and while the contest was pending she was once more seized with a deep melancholy accompanied by fever. The nuns asked her what made her so sad. She replied that they knew the cause well enough, and that it depended on them to put a period to her grief. Tell us what you want of us,' they said, at last, touched by her sor row, and, provided you are satisfied, we promise to do anything.' She reiterated that what she required was that they would renounce the system of individual property; and the following day they brought her their clothes. One nun, named Johannet, who was deaf and dumb, had not been informed of what was going on, and it was intended, in consequence of her infirmity, to exempt her from the law; but on seeing the others produce their wardrobes, she guessed the meaning of the action, and imitated their example. From that day, which was the eve of St. Joseph, 1609, and which was religiously inscribed in the Fasti of Port-Royal, the community of goods was permanently re-established, and the Mother Abbess was cured of her fever.

had as yet no part in her resolution, but it
was close at hand. One evening, at the
approach of twilight, as she came from a
walk in the garden, a Capuchin friar ar-
rived at the convent and requested to
preach. A sermon was an entertainment
which broke the monotony of the ordinary
convent life, but as it was growing late
the abbess was on the point of refusing the
offer. Suddenly she changed her mind,
and ordered the bells to toll. What the
capuchin said she did not herself recollect;
but while the discourse, which was on the
humility of the Saviour, was proceeding, a
complete revolution took place in her feel-
ings. 'God so touched me,' she said, that
from this moment I found myself more
happy to be a nun than I ever before was
unhappy at being one.' She perceived,
however, that the Capuchin preacher was
not capable of guiding her in the path
which a divine light had just displayed to
her, and she kept her emotions to herself.
The new thoughts which now agitated her
heart again affected her health, and she
was removed to her father's country seat
of Andilly. That dwelling appeared to
me so lovely,' said the poor girl, that I
would gladly have remained for ever
amidst such beautiful scenes, for God had
not yet given me the eyes of a Christian.'
Nevertheless she assumed a coarse dress,
lay on a hard couch, and curtailed her
sleep to go and pray secretly in the re-
motest parts of the house. Sometimes she
was found inflicting punishments upon her-
self that she might become accustomed by
degrees to bear bodily pain. Dreading the
effects of such austerity, her family, who
had hitherto employed their endeavours
to engage her in a monastic life, now united |
their efforts to check her enthusiasm. The
nuns, when she got back to Port-Royal,
were not less averse to the new spirit
which had come over her. In spite of
relations and nuns she followed her own
conscientious convictions, and resolved to
persevere. The first change she intro-
duced was to bring back the community to
the strict observance of their vow of po- When Mother Angélique had overcome
verty. It was not the easiest part of the this difficulty, and established the commu-
undertaking, for the best were those who nity of goods, she made up her mind to
were most opposed to the step. They re- strike the great blow. She was deter-
marked with some reason that when every-mined to restore the rule of seclusion, to
thing was in common, clothes included (for
such was the rule), all providence would
cease, and nobody would have any inte-
rest in economising. Mother Angélique
did not hesitate to acknowledge that in a
temporal point of view the rule might be
disadvantageous, but temporal considera-
tions had no longer any weight in her

There still remained one refractory member in the person of an aged nun, Dame Morel, who fondly cultivated a little garden. She brought everything except the key of this garden. We all of us have our little garden,' says M. SainteBeuve, with his usual grace, and we often cling to it more strongly than to the large one. Dame Morel flew into a passion whenever any nun or father Capuchin sorrowfully spoke to her of that unlawful reservation. At last, one day, when no one had breathed a word on the subject, she surrendered by a sort of inward miracle. She sent in a letter the key of the garden, as of a last citadel. In fact it was the key of her heart.'

sever herself from the world, and with her nuns devote herself completely to God. This involved the separation from her family, whom she so dearly loved, and by whom she was so tenderly beloved. But the Arnaulds were not to be disunited by this daring act of filial disobedience, by this richly rewarded sacrifice of feeling to

duty. One by one, sisters, brothers, mo- | As they joined the infuriated group, M ther, nieces, and nephews, came clustering d'Andilly poured forth bitter reproaches round the young saint whom they began against Mother Angélique. Mother Agnes by opposing, most of them attracted by immediately took up her defence, observher virtues, her example, and her insinu- ing that her sister had done nothing more ating charity. She began by drawing to than was prescribed by the Council of her her little sister, Mother Agnes, abbess Trent. Oh, forsooth,' exclaimed M. d'Anof St. Cyr, whom we have already seen dilly, excited beyond endurance, 'this is a priding herself on her official supremacy. pretty case; here is another little pedant In a few months she renounced her once who quotes to us canons and council!' All cherished dignity, and took her vows as a this while there were some dissentients in simple nun at Port-Royal. the camp, and among them was old Dame Morel, who clung so fondly to her little garden, and who now exclaimed, 'It is a shame not to open to M. Arnauld.' Mother Angélique was of another opinion, and at last her father, without relinquishing his anger, yielded to her entreaties, and went to the reception-room. Pale and agitated, he spoke to her through the grating of all that he had done for her, and of the love which he bore her. Henceforth be renounced it; he would see her no more, and as a final request he conjured her to take care of herself and not ruin her health by reckless austerities. This pathetic adieu, in which tenderness mingled with resentment, proved too much for the overwrought mind of Mother Angélique, and she fell senseless on the floor. A paroxysm of alarm now took possession of M. Arnauld. He called wildly upon his daughter, he stretched out his arms to the opposing grate, he vociferated with all his might for help, and his wife and children screamed as loudly as himself. The nuns, believing that the uproar was only a renewal of the original contest, kept carefully out of the way, and it was some time before they could be made to comprehend the situation of their Abbess.

The law-courts rose, and Antoine Arnauld, as was his custom in vacations, repaired to Port-Royal. In one of the huge family coaches of the period were the father, the mother, the eldest sister Mme. Le Maitre, a younger sister named Anne, who was then fifteen, and the eldest brother Arnauld d'Andilly, who was twenty. It is difficult for us now to realise the full force of the paternal authority of that age, and the immense hardihood which it required to resist its will. Mother Angélique was hardly seventeen, and had never swerved from the most profound obedience, which was seconded by such love as strong minds only are capable of feeling. Prayer was her weapon against the coming attack, and the nuns of her party joined with her in her supplications. She had taken possession at dawn of every key to prevent a surprise, and, with her supporters, waited the arrival of the dreaded coach 'like a little force under arms awaiting the enemy.' So daring did the act appear, that few of the inmates could believe she would have the courage to persist. At length the noise of wheels was heard in the outer court, and Mother Angélique, advancing to the wicket, announced her resolution to her father, and begged him to proceed to the grated parlour, where alone she could receive him. No sooner did she utter the words than he flew into a passion, knocked louder than ever at the door, and fiercely demanded admittance. Madame Arnauld joined in the clamour, called her daughter an ingrate, and swore an oath which afterwards cost her many a tear, that if she was not admitted at once she would never again set her foot in Port-Royal. M. d'Andilly, with the impetuosity of youth, went further still, and declared that his sister was a monster and a parricide. The Abbess stood firm. M. Arnauld, unable to prevail by force, had recourse to stratagem. He demanded to see his two other daughters, Mother Agnes and Marie-Claire, intending to rush in as these were let out. But they were sent round by the church-door, and the opportunity was lost of surprising the citadel.

Her first words on open

ing her eyes were to request her father not to leave that day. She had a couch prepared for herself by the grating; a calm and loving conversation ensued, and Mother Angélique was victorious over her family. Her ecclesiastical superiors afterwards gave permission for Madame Arnauld and her daughters to enter the convent when they pleased. But the fatal oath was for a year an insurmountable barrier. At the end of that period she heard a sermon in which hasty and foolish vows were declared not to be binding, and she immediately ordered her carriage and set out for Port-Royal. The day of her reappearance was ever af ter kept as an anniversary in her heart by the delighted Mother Angélique.

The grand contest which had taken place was known in the annals of the monastery by the name of the day of the wicket.' M. Roy ar-Collard used to speak of the

unmov'd,

Unshaken, unseduc'd, unterrified,
Her loyalty she kept, her love, her zcal;
Nor number nor example with her wrought
To swerve from truth, or change her constant

mind

Though single.'

This was her true glory, her chief distinc-
tion, and it was this quality which enabled
her to produce such wonderful results.

scene as one of the great pages of human | indissolubly associated with the locality,
nature, and one which was not surpassed and she imagined, as she gazed at the sky,
by anything in Plutarch. His admiration, that it was more serene than elsewhere.
all must agree, was not misplaced. The She once, when she was alone, danced
object for which Mother Angélique con- with joy at the recollection that she was a
tended was indeed mistaken, or rather the nun, and when she saw one of the sister-
mistake was in her vocation itself. But hood sorrowful she thought if she did but
what is beyond all praise is, the unflinch- look at her black veil she would be sad no
ing adherence to what she conceived her longer. But mortification was the rule of
duty, the sacrifice to conscience of every the house. Her passion was prayer and
opposing feeling of her heart.
solitude, and she was subsequently set to
perform the uncongenial task of instructing
children. For fifteen or sixteen years she
continued to obey, but it was, she said, as
it were at the point of the sword. Mother
Angélique set the example of self-denial.
'It would be difficult,' wrote her niece, to
find such another piece of serge as she used
for her dress-so coarse, rough, loose, yel-
low, and greasy. What I say of her
clothes I might say of everything; she
Let us,' says M. Sainte-Beuve, ‘reca- never took for herself anything but the
pitulate the actors in the events of the day refuse.' M. Arnauld had been accustomed
of the wicket-Mother Angélique, M. to assist in defraying the expenses of the
Arnauld, Madame Arnauld, their three establishment, and she endeavoured by
young daughters, Agnes, Anne, and Marie- economy to dispense with his gifts and
Claire, Mme. Le Maître and M. d'Andilly. render the house self-supporting. In spite
Well, these actors or spectators, M. Ar- of the poverty which resulted, she managed
nauld excepted, who died in the world to relieve the poor families in the neigh-
respected as an honest man and a Christian, bourhood. To the inmates she compen-
all, with Madame Arnauld at their head, sated for the deprivations she imposed on
entered finally into Port-Royal.' Marie- them by redoubling her tenderness. It
Claire, who, we have seen, was already was on the sick sisters especially that she
domiciled with the Abbess at the time of lavished the tokens of her inexhaustible
the battle, had been a lovely child, but charity, nursing them and rendering them
was completely disfigured by the small- the most repulsive services. Whenever
pox. When she first caught sight of her she was wanted it was almost always in
face in the glass, she covered it with her the infirmary that she was to be found.
hands and cried out, 'It is no longer I.' She was discovered there one day lying on
The involuntary exclamation was true in the feet of a sick nun, whom nothing would
a sense which she little imagined. It was warm, and she said, with a laugh, that she
probably not only her face but her heart was performing the office of a blanket. In
which was changed by the event, and her fact, the irresistible gift of persuasiveness
moral being profited by the destruction of which Mother Angélique possessed con-
her beauty. Anne, who was six years sisted mainly in this, that she was more
older, had her religious impressions severe towards herself than towards her
strengthened by the same disorder. Her flock. She oftener taught by example
convictions continued to gather force until than by precept. When she had deter-
in 1616 she renounced the world for Port- mined upon suppressing the use of meat in
Royal. When I first entered,' she wrote, the community, she began by trying the
I felt a painful void in my soul, and, hav- practice upon herself. For a month she
ing mentioned it to Mother Agnes, she ate nothing except a piece of omelette, and
answered that I need not be astonished, to conceal the fact, she had it covered with
because, having quitted all the things of a thin slice of mutton. A petty deception
the world, and not being yet consoled by like this does not accord with the nobler
God. I was as between heaven and earth. proceedings of the holy ⚫Angélique; but
About a year afterwards this void was tricks in some shape or other seem an in-
filled.' From this time she considered the curable vice of the Roman Catholic reli-
convent a paradise. The marshy and un- gion. Having undergone the probation in
wholesome valley, the damp and narrow her own person, she invited the rest to
cell, seemed delightful to her spirit, sooth-repeat the experiment, and abstinence was
ed by the religious exercises which were embraced by the entire community.

They presented themselves for the purpose to a Bernardin monk who did not bear the name of their confessor for nothing, since it was he who always made their confession for them, and named the sins that they were to acknowledge. although perhaps they had not committed them. It was all that he could do to get them to pronounce a "Yes," or a No," upon which he gave them absolution without further inquiry. At last, wearied with the incessant reproaches of this father, on account of their ignorance, they hit on what they thought an excellent method. They composed in conjunction, with for high festivals, one for Sundays, and one for much difficulty, three kinds of confessions-one working-days, and having written them in a book, each took it when they went to confess, which they might just as easily have done altogether, since they all repeated the same thing.'

Port Royal set in order, Mother Angé- | was hardly credible. To confess is one of lique was called upon to perform the same the first demands of the Roman Catholic duty for another establishment. Her former church, the very alphabet of its faith; and mistress and namesake, Madame d'Estrées, people whose lives were supposed to be still presided at Maubuisson, where mat- passed in pious exercises knew not how to ters had proceeded from bad to worse. discharge a duty which was performed by She locked up and illtreated the monks the meanest peasant. who were sent to inquire into the scandals which prevailed, and her last feat in this kind was to imprison one M. Deruptis in a tower of the abbey, keep him on bread and water, and have him flogged every morning. It was determined, as she refused to vacate her office, to remove her by force and shut her up in the house of the Filles pénitentes,' though it was certainly not to this body that she belonged. The king's archers arrived on the 5th of February, 1618, and being denied admittance, they scaled the walls, broke open the doors, and carried away Madame d'Estrées on her bed. On the 19th of February Mother Angélique left PortRoyal to supply her place. It was the day after the profession of her sister Anne, who remained unmoved, while the rest of the nuns were weeping for the loss of their beloved Abbcss. The gloom which overcast a portion of the noviciate of sister Anne was passed, and she entered into that joy at her calling, of which we have seen the evidence. God,' she said, when astonishment was expressed at her seem ing indifference to the departure of Angélique-God conferred too great a favour upon me yesterday to permit me to mourn to-day.'

Mother Angélique did not underrate the difficulties of her task. She believed that she was sacrificing herself to others, and that her health and energies would be exhausted in the task. She took with her her young sister Marie-Claire, and before setting out,' says M. Sainte-Beuve, 'she showed her the bed she would one day have to occupy in the infirmary of PortRoyal on her return from this rude and ruinous campaign, as a general might point out the Invalides to his soldiers on the eve The reception which Mother Angélique of battle.' The Abbess began by endea met with at Maubuisson was a complete vouring to win the co-operation of the old contrast to the regrets she left behind. nuns whom she had known in her childThe report of the reform of Port-Royal hood. Her gentle manners diminished by had frightened the dissolute nuns, and they degrees the fright which her arrival had pictured to themselves a stern mistress caused, and at last terror was changed into whose very aspect would cause them to admiration. She next, to infuse a better shudder. They had none of them the spirit into the house, introduced thirty new slightest idea of the duties of their pro- nuns of tried piety, lodged them in a sepafession. They attended the holy services rate quarter, and bestowed all her care without reverence, and spent all the re- upon their training. As in Port-Royal, mainder of their time in entertainments. she was the first to perform the tasks sho They gave numerous parties, played come- imposed. She swept the house, carried dies to divert their guests, had collations the wood, washed the porringers, and served in gardens where they had had weeded the garden. Her cell was the summer-houses built, and often walked narrowest, darkest, and most uncomfortto the ponds on the road to Paris, where able in the house; a sewer near the winthey were joined by monks who danced dow rendered it unwholesome; insects with them. The age was dissolute, and made it a place of torture; and, to comthere was nothing of primitive innocence plete the self-imposed hardship, she slept and simplicity in these rural amusements, in serge sheets upon a straw mattress which, even at the best, were a contraven- which was placed on the ground. tion of the rules of monastic discipline. Maubuisson was destined like Port-Royal The ignorance of the Maubuisson nuns of to have its day of the wicket,' but the everything which appertained to religion contest was of another kind. Madame

d'Estrées had been violently ejected by but the people thronged about them, ex-
the King's archers, and she resolved to claiming that they had left the real plague
copy the tactics of her enemies. She had behind in the person of that infamous and
escaped from the house of the Filles péni- abandoned woman who had turned them
tentes in the night, and appeared suddenly out. Their sojourn at Pontoise was short.
at Maubuisson, accompanied by the Count At the first outbreak Madame Angélique
de Sanzai and an armed escort. She went sent to Paris to announce what was going
up to Mother Angélique as she was enter- on. A troop of the King's archers were
ing the choir, and, addressing her, said immediately despatched, and Madame d'Es-
I have come to thank you for the care trées and her bravos fled at their approach
you have taken of my abbey during my without waiting to dispute the field. At
absence, and to request you to return to ten at night Madame Angélique and her
yours and leave me to manage my own.' nuns set out from Pontoise, escorted by a
Madame,' replied Mother Angélique, I hundred and fifty archers, each carrying a
would do it gladly if I could, but you know torch in his hand and a musket on his
that our superior has ordered me to take shoulder. It is evident that exciting epi-
charge of this house, and that having come sodes like these would only increase the
here from obedience it is only from the sense which the community might before
same obedience that I can depart.' Having have entertained of the importance of their
said these words, she sat down in the choir mission, and would give an impulse as
in the seat of the Abbess. What auda- marked as it was unexpected to the efforts
city,' exclaimed Madame d'Estrées, to of Mother Angélique.
assume my place in my presence!' and
rushing out she demanded the keys of the
house. She was answered that they were
in the possession of Madame.' Is there
any other Madame here but myself?' she
cried out in a rage. The storm soon after
ceased for a while, but was renewed when
Mother Angélique and her nuns returned
after dinner to the chapel. Count Sanzai
and four gentlemen advanced towards her,
sword in hand, and exhorted her to yield.
One of them, to terrify her, fired a pistol.
She still replied with calmness that she
would not stir until she was turned out by
force, since this alone could justify her be-
fore God. The nuns thronged around her
to protect her, while Madame d'Estrées
poured upon her a torrent of abuse, and at
last took hold of her veil as if to tear it
from her head. Immediately,' she says,
my lamb-like sisters became lions, and
one of them advanced towards Madame
d'Estrées, and exclaimed, "You wretch!
do you dare to pull away the veil of Ma-
dame de Port-Royal? Ah! I know you
well. I know who you are." And upon
this she caught hold of the veil of Madame
d'Estrées and flung it away. The gentle-
men now seized Mother Angélique by the
arm, and hurried her into a coach which
was waiting for the purpose. The nuns
rushed in a crowd to the carriage; some
ascended the box, some got up behind, or
on the roof, and others clung to the wheels.
'Drive on,' said Madame d'Estrées to the
coachman, but he answered that he dared
not, for he should kill the nuns. Mother
Angélique alighted, formed them into a
procession, and two and two they walked to
Pontoise. The plague was in the place,

The danger from the myrmidons of Madame d'Estrées did not entirely cease with this memorable day. They sometimes appeared at the convent, and fired under the windows. A garrison of fifty archers was ordered to watch over the safety of the inmates, but Mother Angélique refused to retain them. Her religious faith was equal to all emergencies, and that calm and enduring heroism, essentially feminine, which she displayed before the drawn swords of the brutal creatures of the infuriated ex-abbess, was the only shield she desired against a renewal of the outrage. She continued for five years her work of reform, and was offered the appointment of abbess, but refused to accept so rich a post. Madame de Soissons was named to the office, and Mother Angélique remained some months to assist her. Disagreements, however, arose, and one of the complaints was that she had filled the monastery with poor girls without dowry. I answered,' she said, 'that if a house with thirty thousand livres rent was too much burthened by thirty nuns, I should not consider that Port-Royal, which had only six thousand, would be incommoded by receiving them.' She accordingly removed them there the 3rd of March, 1623. The Port Royal nuns chanted the Te Deum on the arrival of their sisters from Maubuisson, welcoming them as a present from God to enrich the house more and more with the inexhaustible treasury of poverty.' Mother Angelique, who had business in Paris, was unable to accompany the adopted thirty to their new home and fearing that the sudden influx of such numbers, when she was not there to keep order, would occasion an in