It will be
perceived that he had a peculiar manner of his own of judging things:
I suspect
that he obtained it from the Gospel.
One day he
heard a criminal case, which was in preparation and on the point of trial,
discussed in a drawing-room. A wretched man, being at the end of his resources,
had coined counterfeit money, out of love for a woman, and for the child which
he had had by her. Counterfeiting was still punishable with death at that
epoch. The woman had been arrested in the act of passing the first false piece
made by the man.
She was
held, but there were no proofs except against her.
She alone
could accuse her lover, and destroy him by her confession.
She denied;
they insisted.
She
persisted in her denial.
Thereupon an
idea occurred to the attorney for the crown. He invented an infidelity on the
part of the lover, and succeeded, by means of fragments of letters cunningly
presented, in persuading the unfortunate woman that she had a rival, and that
the man was deceiving her.
Thereupon,
exasperated by jealousy, she denounced her lover, confessed all, proved all.
The man was
ruined.
He was
shortly to be tried at Aix with his accomplice.
They were
relating the matter, and each one was expressing enthusiasm over the cleverness
of the magistrate. By bringing jealousy into play, he had caused the truth to
burst forth in wrath, he had educed the justice of revenge.
The Bishop
listened to all this in silence.
When they
had finished, he inquired,--
"Where
are this man and woman to be tried?"
"At the
Court of Assizes."
He went on,
"And where will the advocate of the crown be tried?"
A tragic
event occurred at D---- A man was condemned to death for murder.
He was a
wretched fellow, not exactly educated, not exactly ignorant, who had been a
mountebank at fairs, and a writer for the public.
The town
took a great interest in the trial. On the eve of the day fixed for the
execution of the condemned man, the chaplain of the prison fell ill.
A priest was
needed to attend the criminal in his last moments.
They sent
for the cure. It seems that he refused to come, saying, "That is no affair
of mine.
I have
nothing to do with that unpleasant task, and with that mountebank:
I, too, am
ill; and besides, it is not my place." This reply was reported to the
Bishop, who said, "Monsieur le Cure is right:
it is not
his place; it is mine."
He went
instantly to the prison, descended to the cell of the "mountebank,"
called him by name, took him by the hand, and spoke to him. He passed the
entire day with him, forgetful of food and sleep, praying to God for the soul
of the condemned man, and praying the condemned man for his own.
He told him
the best truths, which are also the most simple.
He was father, brother,
friend; he was bishop only to bless.
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