office, and invested with all its functions and prerogatives. One day when Henry IV. was hunting in the neighborhood, he took it into his head to visit M. Arnauld, who was at Port-Royal with his daughter. The little abbess went out to meet him at the head of her community, and marched gravely along with ludicrous dignity upon thick-soled shoes, some five or six inches high, that she might appear to have the stature of a woman. That merry monarch could not fail to be delighted with the mockheroic scene. He left with reluctance, and kept shouting as he rode away, "I kiss my hand to Madame the Abbess." Nothing as yet seemed to foreshadow the changes which were soon to take place. On the contrary, Mother Angélique felt no vocation for a religious life. She regretted the world from which she had been cut off so young, preferred the reading of Plutarch's Lives to her Breviary, and often meditated joining two of her aunts who had embraced the Protestant religion and resided together at La Rochelle. She even desired to marry, for she justly thought that a holy domestic life was more agreeable to the Almighty than the unnatural austerities of a monastic seclusion. By degrees the conflict of her feelings reduced her to a state of melancholy which impaired her health, and she was taken home to be nursed. She was not then sixteen. Her father detected the causes of her despondency, and with the vehemence of will which was the characteristic of his race he one day entered her room with a document in his hand, and said, "Sign this, my child." Awed by the profound respect which she entertained for her father, but her heart bursting with rage, as she instinctively divined the purport of the unread paper, she complied with his demand. She felt that her honor was pledged, that she had definitively engaged herself against her will to lead a religious life. And, in fact, the act was the ratification of her vows; it was her sentence upon herself! was close at hand. One evening at the approach of twilight, as she came from a walk in the garden, a Capuchin friar arrived 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 feelings. "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 remotest parts of the house. Sometimes she was found inflicting punishments upon herself that she might become accustomed by degrees to bear bodily pain. Dreading the effects of such austerity, her family, who had hitherto employed their endeavors 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 introduced was to bring back the community to the strict observance of their vow of Her health restored, she returned sad poverty. It was not the easiest part of but resigned to the convent, which she the undertaking, for the best were those accepted henceforth for her destiny. The who were most opposed to the step. They renewal of her vows, it is true, had been remarked with some reason that when obtained by a trick, but it was a trick play- everything was in common, clothes included by a beloved father. Filial respected, (for such was the rule,) all providence threw a veil over the artifice, and the poor child only thought of her signature, and forgot the mode of obtaining it. Religion had as yet no part in her resolution, but it would cease, and nobody would have any interest in economizing. Mother Angélique did not hesitate to acknowledge that in a temporal point of view, the rule might be disadvantageous, but temporal considerations had no longer any weight in her 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 sorrow, "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 Fusti of Port-Royal, the community of goods was permanently reestablished, and the Mother Abbess was cured of her fever. 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. When Mother Angélique had overcome this difficulty, and established the community of goods, she made up her mind to strike the great blow. She was determined to restore the rule of seclusion, to sever herself from the world, and with her nuns devote herself completely to God. This involved the separation from her fam ily, 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, mother, nieces, and nephews, came clustering round the young saint whom they began by opposing, most of them attracted by her virtues, her example, and her insinuating charity. She began by drawing to her her little sister, Mother Agnes, abbess of St. Cyr, whom we have already seen priding herself on her official supremacy. In a few months she renounced her once cherished dignity, and took her vows as a simple nun at Port-Royal. 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 Maître, a younger sister named Annie, who was then fifteen, and the eldest brother Arnauld d'Andilly, who was twenty. It is difficult for us now to realize 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 parlor, 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 clamor, 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, 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. Royer-Collard used to speak of the scene as one of the great pages of human nature, and one which was not surpassed by anything in Plutarch. His admiration, all must agree, was not misplaced. The object for which Mother Angélique contended was indeed mistaken, or rather the mistake was in her vocation itself. But what is beyond all praise is, the unflinching adherence to what she conceived her duty-the sacrifice to conscience of every opposing feeling of her heart: 66 -unmov'd, Her loyalty she kept, her love, her zeal; went further still, and declared that his | they pleased. But the fatal oath was for sister was a monster and a parricide. a year an insurmountable barrier. At the The Abbess stood firm. M. Arnauld, un- end of that period she heard a sermon in able to prevail by force, had recourse to which hasty and foolish vows were declared stratagem. He demanded to see his two not to be binding, and she immediately other daughters, Mother Agnes and Marie- ordered her carriage and set out for PortClaire, intending to rush in as these were Royal. The day of her reappearance was let out. But they were sent round by the ever after kept as an anniversary in her church door, and the opportunity was lost heart by the delighted Mother Angélique. of surprising the citadel. As they joined the infuriated group, M. d'Andilly poured forth bitter reproaches against Mother Angélique. Mother Agnes immediately took up her defence, observing that her sister had done nothing more than was prescribed by the Council of Trent. "Oh! forsooth," exclaimed M. d'Andilly, excited beyond endurance, "this is a pretty case; here is another little pedant who quotes to us canons and council!" All this while there were some dissentients in 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 he 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 over- "Let us," says M. Sainte-Beuve, "recawrought mind of Mother Angélique, and pitulate the actors in the events of the she fell senseless on the floor. A paroxysm day of the wicket: Mother Angélique, M. of alarm now took possession of M. Arnauld. Arnauld, Madame Arnauld, their three He called wildly upon his daughter, he young daughters-Agnes, Anne, and Mastretched out his arms to the opposing rie-Claire-Mme. Le Maitre, and M. d'Angrate, he vociferated with all his might dilly. Well, these actors or spectators, M. for help, and his wife and children scream- Arnauld excepted, who died in the world ed as loudly as himself. The nuns, believ-respected as an honest man and a Christing 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. Her first words on opening her eyes was 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 Though single." This was her true glory, her chief distinction, and it was this quality which enabled her to produce such wonderful results. ian, all, with Madame Arnauld at their head, entered finally into Port-Royal." Marie-Claire, who, we have seen, was already domiciled with the Abbess at the time of the battle, had been a lovely child, but was completely disfigured by the small-pox. When she first caught sight of her face in the glass, she covered it with her hands and cried out, "It is no longer I." The involuntary exclamation was true in a sense which she little imag ined. It was probably not only her face but her heart which was changed by the lying on the feet of a sick nun, whom nothing would warm, and she said, with a laugh, that she was performing the office of a blanket. In fact, the irresistible gift of persuasiveness which Mother Angélique possessed, consisted mainly in this, that she was more severe towards herself than towards her flock. She oftener taught by example than by precept. When she had determined upon suppressing the use of meat in the community, she began by trying the practice upon herself. For a month she ate nothing except a piece of omelette, and to conceal the fact, she had it covered with a thin slice of mutton. petty deception like this does not accord with the nobler proceedings of the holy Angélique; but tricks in some shape or other seem an incurable vice of the Roman Catholic religion. Having undergone the probation in her own person, she invited the rest to repeat the experiment, and abstinence was embraced by the entire community. A event, and her moral being profited by the destruction of her beauty. Anne, who was six years older, had her religious impressions strengthened by the same disorder. Her convictions continued to gather force until in 1616 she renounced the world for Port-Royal. "When I first entered," she wrote, "I felt a painful void in my soul, and, having mentioned it to Mother Agnes, she answered that I need not be astonished, because, having quitted all the things of the world, and not being yet consoled by God, I was as between heaven and earth. About a year afterwards this void was filled." From this time she considered the convent a paradise. The marshy and unwholesome valley, the damp and narrow cell, seemed delightful to her spirit, soothed by the religious exercises which were indissolubly associated with the locality; and she imagined, as she gazed at the sky, that it was more serene than elsewhere. She once, when she was alone, danced with joy at the recollection that she was a nun, and Port-Royal set in order, Mother Angé when she saw one of the sisterhood sor- lique was called upon to perform the same rowful she thought if she did but look at duty for another establishment. Her forher black veil she would be sad no longer. mer mistress and namesake, Madame d'EsBut mortification was the rule of the trées, still presided at Maubuisson, where house. Her passion was prayer and soli- matters had proceeded from bad to worse. tude, and she was subsequently set to She locked up and ill-treated the monks perform the uncongenial task of instruct- who were sent to inquire into the scandals ing children. For fifteen or sixteen years which prevailed, and her last feat in this she continued to obey, but it was, she kind was to imprison one M. Deruptis in said, as it were at the point of the sword. a tower of the abbey, keep him on bread Mother Angélique set the example of self- and water, and have him flogged every denial. "It would be difficult," wrote morning. It was determined, as she reher niece, "to find such another piece of fused to vacate her office, to remove her serge as she used for her dress-so coarse, by force and shut her up in the house of rough, loose, yellow, and greasy. What the "Filles pénitentes," though it was cerI say of her clothes I might say of every-tainly not to this body that she belonged. thing; she never took for herself anything but the refuse." M. Arnauld had been accustomed to assist in defraying the expenses of the establishment, and she endeavored by economy to dispense with his gifts and render the house self-supporting. In spite of the poverty which resulted, she managed to relieve the poor families in the neighborhood. To the inmates she compensated for the deprivations she imposed on them by redoubling her tenderness. It was on the sick sisters especially that she lavished the tokens of her inexhaustible charity, nursing them and rendering them the most repulsive services. Whenever she was wanted it was almost always in the infirmary that she was to be found. She was discovered there one day VOL. XL.-NO. I. 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 Port-Royal 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 abbess. The gloom which overcast a portion of the novitiate of sister Anne was passed, and she had entered into that joy at her calling, of which we have seen the evidence. "God," she said, when astonishment was expressed at her seeming indifference to the departure of Angélique-"God conferred too great a favor 3 upon me yesterday to permit me to mourn to-day." The reception which Mother Angélique met with at Maubuisson was a complete contrast to the regrets she left behind. The report of the reform of Port-Royal had frightened the dissolute nuns, and they pictured to themselves a stern mistress whose very aspect would cause them to shudder. They had none of them the slightest idea of the duties of their profession. They attended the holy services without reverence, and spent all the remainder of their time in entertainments. They gave numerous parties, played comedies to divert their guests, had collations served in gardens where they had had summer-houses built, and often walked to the ponds on the road to Paris, where they were joined by monks who danced with them. The age was dissolute, and there was nothing of primitive innocence and simplicity in these rural amusements, which, even at the best, were a contravention of the rules of monastic discipline. The ignorance of the Maubuisson nuns of everything which appertained to religion was hardly credible. To confess is one of the first demands of the Roman Catholic church, the very alphabet of its faith; and people whose lives were supposed to be passed in pious exercises knew not how to discharge a duty which was performed by the meanest peasant. "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 much difficulty, three kinds of confessions-one for high festivals, one for Sundays, and one for workingdays, and, having written them in a book, each took it when they went to confess, which they might just as easily have done all together, since they all repeated the same thing." 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 Port-Poyal on her return from this rude and ruinous campaign, as a general might point out the Invalides to his soldiers on the eve of a battle." The Abbess began by endeavoring to win the coöperation of the old nuns whom she had known in her childhood. Her gentle manners diminished by degrees the fright which her arrival had caused, and at last terror was changed into admiration. She next, to infuse a better spirit into the house, introduced thirty new nuns of tried piety, lodged them in a separate quarter, and bestowed all her care upon their training. As in Port-Royal, she was the first to perform the tasks she imposed. She swept the house, carried the wood, washed the porringers, and weeded the garden. Her cell was the narrowest, darkest, and most uncomfortable in the house; a sewer near the window rendered it unwholesome; insects made it a place of torture; and, to complete the self-imposed hardship, she slept in serge sheets upon a straw mattress which was placed on the ground. Maubuisson was destined, like Port-Royal, to have its "day of the wicket," but the contest was of another kind. Madame d'Estrées had been violently ejected by the King's archers, and she resolved to copy the tactics of her enemies. She had escaped from the house of the Filles pénitentes in the night, and appeared suddenly at Maubuisson, accompanied by the Count de Sanzai and an armed escort. She went up to Mother Angélique as she was entering the choir, and, addressing her, said: "I have come to thank you for the care you have taken of my abbey during my absence, and to request you to return to yours, and leave me to manage my own." "Madame," replied Mother Angélique, "I would do it gladly if I could, but you know that our superior has ordered me to take charge of this house, and that having come here from obedience it is only from the same obedience that I can depart." Having said these words, she sat down in the choir in the seat of the Abbess. "What audacity!" exclaimed Madame d'Estrées, "to 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 |