It is here that a fact falls naturally into place, which we must not omit, because it is
one of the sort which show us best what sort of a man the Bishop of D---- was.
After the destruction of the band of Gaspard Bes, who had infested the gorges of
Ollioules, one of his lieutenants, Cravatte, took refuge in the mountains.
He concealed himself for some time with his bandits, the remnant of Gaspard Bes's
troop, in the county of Nice; then he made his way to Piedmont, and suddenly reappeared in
France, in the vicinity of Barcelonette.
He was first seen at Jauziers, then at Tuiles.
He hid himself in the caverns of the Joug-de-l'Aigle, and thence he descended
towards the hamlets and villages through the ravines of Ubaye and Ubayette.
He even pushed as far as Embrun, entered the cathedral one night, and despoiled the sacristy.
His highway robberies laid waste the country-side. The gendarmes were set on
his track, but in vain. He always escaped; sometimes he resisted by main force.
He was a bold wretch.
In the midst of all this terror the Bishop arrived. He was making his circuit to Chastelar.
The mayor came to meet him, and urged him to retrace his steps.
Cravatte was in possession of the mountains as far as Arche, and beyond; there
was danger even with an escort; it merely exposed three or four unfortunate gendarmes to no purpose.
"Therefore," said the Bishop, "I intend to go without escort."
"You do not really mean that, Monseigneur!" exclaimed the mayor.
"I do mean it so thoroughly that I absolutely refuse any gendarmes, and shall set out in an hour."
"Set out?""Set out."Alone?""Alone."
"Monseigneur, you will not do that!"
"There exists yonder in the mountains," said the Bishop, a tiny community no bigger
than that, which I have not seen for three years. They are my good friends, those
gentle and honest shepherds.
They own one goat out of every thirty that they tend.
They make very pretty woollen cords of various colors, and they play the mountain
airs on little flutes with six holes.
They need to be told of the good God now and then.
What would they say to a bishop who was afraid? What would they say if I did not go?"
"But the brigands, Monseigneur?"
"Hold," said the Bishop, "I must think of that.
You are right. I may meet them.
They, too, need to be told of the good God."
"But, Monseigneur, there is a band of them!
A flock of wolves!"
"Monsieur le maire, it may be that it is of this very flock of wolves that
Jesus has constituted me the shepherd.
Who knows the ways of Providence?"
"They will rob you, Monseigneur.""I have nothing."
They will kill you."
"An old goodman of a priest, who passes along mumbling his prayers? Bah!
To what purpose?"
"O, mon Dieu! what if you should meet them!"
"I should beg alms of them for my poor."
"Do not go, Monseigneur.In the name of Heaven!You are risking your life!"
"Monsieur le maire," said the Bishop, "is that really all? I am not in the
world to guard my own life, but to guard souls."
They had to allow him to do as he pleased.
He set out, accompanied only by a child who offered to serve as a guide.
His obstinacy was bruited about the country-side, and caused great consternation.
He would take neither his sister nor Madame Magloire.
He traversed the mountain on mule-back, encountered no one, and arrived safe
and sound at the residence of his "good friends," the shepherds. He remained
there for a fortnight, preaching, administering the sacrament, teaching, exhorting.
When the time of his departure approached, he resolved to chant a Te Deum pontifically.
He mentioned it to the cure.