Les Miserables (abridged) (Barnes & Noble Classics Series) by Victor Hugo Page A

Ubayette.
    He even pushed as far as Embrun, and one night broke into the cathedral and stripped the sacristy. His robberies devastated the country. The gendarmes were put upon his trail, but in vain. He always escaped; sometimes by forcible resistance. He was a bold wretch. In the midst of all this terror, the bishop arrived. He was making his visit to Chastelar. The mayor came to see him and urged him to turn back. Cravatte held the mountains as far as Arche and beyond; it would be dangerous even with an escort. It would expose three or four poor gendarmes to useless danger.
    “And so,” said the bishop, “I intend to go without an escort.”
    “Do not think of such a thing,” exclaimed the mayor.
    “I think so much of it, that I absolutely refuse the gendarmes, and I am going to start in an hour.”
    “But, monseigneur, the brigands?”
    “True,” said the bishop, “I am thinking of that. You are right. I may meet them. They too must need some one to tell them of the goodness of God.”
    “Monseigneur, but it is a band! A pack of wolves!”
    “Monsieur Mayor, perhaps Jesus has made me the keeper of that very flock. Who knows the ways of providence?”
    “Monseigneur, they will rob you.”
    “I have nothing.”
    “They will kill you.”
    “A simple old priest who passes along muttering his prayer? No, no; what good would it do them?”
    “Oh, my good sir, suppose you should meet them!”
    “I should ask them for alms for my poor.”
    “Monseigneur, do not go. In the name of heaven! You are risking your life.”
    “Monsieur Mayor,” said the bishop, “that is just it. I am not in the world to care for my life, but for souls.”
    He would not be dissuaded. He set out, accompanied only by a child, who offered to go as his guide. His obstinacy was the talk of the country, and all dreaded the result.
    He would not take along his sister, or Madame Magloire. He crossed the mountain on a mule, met no one, and arrived safe and sound among his “good friends” the shepherds. He remained there a fortnight, preaching, administering the holy rites, teaching and exhorting. When he was about to leave, he resolved to chant a Te Deum with pontifical ceremonies. He talked with the cure about it. But what could be done? There was no episcopal furniture. They could only place at his disposal a paltry village sacristy with a few old robes of worn-out damask, trimmed with imitation braids.
    “No matter,” said the bishop. “Monsieur le cure, at the sermon announce our Te Deum. That will take care of itself.”
    All the neighbouring churches were ransacked, but the assembled magnificence of these humble parishes could not have suitably clothed a single cathedral singer.
    While they were in this embarrassment, a large chest was brought to the parsonage, and left for the bishop by two unknown horsemen, who immediately rode away. The chest was opened; it contained a cope of cloth of gold, a mitre ornamented with diamonds, an archbishop’s cross, a magnificent crosier, all the pontifical raiment stolen a month before from the treasures of Our Lady of Embrun. In the chest was a paper on which were written these words: “Cravatte to Monseigneur Bienvenu.”
    “I said that it would take care of itself,” said the bishop. Then he added with a smile: “To him who is contented with a curé’s surplice, God sends an archbishop’s cope.”
    “Monseigneur,” murmured the cure, with a shake of the head and a smile, “God—or the devil.”
    The bishop looked steadily upon the cure, and replied with authority: “God!”
    When he returned to Chastelar, all along the road, the people came with curiosity to see him. At the parsonage in Chastelar he found Mademoiselle Baptistine and Madame Magloire waiting for him, and he said to his sister, “Well, was I not right? the poor priest went among those poor mountaineers with empty hands; he comes back with hands filled. I went forth placing my trust in God alone; I bring back the