At the moment when the first large ominous11 drops were falling the little party chanced to be near by the convent of St. Pons. It is a bold thing for a company of gay young men to approach a retreat of nuns12; but the wind was already howling, the blast was chill and these youths were bold. The door was opened, not by an austere14 creature with a repellent frown, but by a comely15 serving sister of joyous16 countenance17. The youths, adopting that abject18 humility19 which men assume when they find themselves where they ought not to be, begged meekly20 for shelter from the rain. Without demur21 and, indeed, with effusion the fair janitor22 bade them welcome and asked them to come in. The young men, whose faces until now were solemn, as was befitting to a sacred place, began to smile and to appear normal. The serving sister, with a winning curtsey, said she would call the abbess.
At this announcement the smile vanished from the lips of the refugees. An abbess was a terrible and awe-inspiring thing, something that was stout23 and red, imperious and chilling, inclined to wrath24 and very severe in all matters relating to young men. A few turned as if to make for the outer door; while one—who had held an outpost in a siege—whispered to his friend “Now we are in for it!” After a period of acute suspense25 an inner door opened and the abbess appeared. She was stout, it is true; but it was a very comfortable, embrace-inviting stoutness26. She was red; but it was the ruddy glow of a ripe apple. Her face was sunny, her mouth smiling and her manner warm. In age she was just past the meridian27. She was, indeed, the embodiment of St. Martin’s summer.
She greeted the new-comers with heartiness28; laughed at their timidity; asked them what they were frightened at and told them, with no conventual restraint, that she was delighted to see them. When one mumbled29 something about being driven in by the rain she said, with a coy glance at her guests, that rain was much wanted just then about the convent. She put them at their ease. She chattered30 and warbled as one who loves to talk. Her voice rippled31 through the solemn hall like the song of a full-breasted thrush. She asked them their names and what they were doing. She wanted to hear the lighter32 gossip of Castle Hill and to be told of the scrapes in which they were involved and of the bearing of their lady loves. She twitted a handsome knight33 upon his good looks and caused a shy seigneur to stammer34 till he blushed.
It must not be supposed that she was an ordinary abbess or a type of the reverend lady who should control the lives and mould the conduct of quiet nuns. Indeed the recorder of this chronicle viewed her with disapproval35 and applied36 harsh terms to her; for in his description of this merry, fun-loving and comfortable person he uses such disagreeable expressions as mondaine and bonne viveuse.[8]
As the rain was still beating on the convent roofs and as the young men had travelled far the abbess invited them into the refectory, a white, hollow room with bare table and stiff chairs. Here wine was placed before them, of rare quality and in copious37 amount; while—sad as it may be to tell the truth—nuns began to sidle timidly into the room, one by one. Whatever might be the comment the fact cannot be concealed38 that the grim refectory was soon buzzing with as merry a company as ever came together and one very unusual within the walls of a convent.
The time was drawing near for the evening service. Whether the abbess invited the young men to join in the devotions proper to the house, or whether the young men, out of politeness, suggested that they should attend I am unable to state, for the historian is silent upon this point.
The service proceeded. The male members of the congregation were, I am afraid, inattentive. They were tired; they had passed through an emotional adventure and wine is soporific. They lolled in their seats; some rested their heads on the bench before them; some dozed39; some even may have slept.
In a while the nuns began the singing of the “De Profundis” (Out of the Depths). As they sang one voice could be heard soaring above the rest, a voice clear and beautiful, vibrating with tenderness, with longing40 and with infinite pathos41. The young men remained unmoved save one. This one, who had been lounging in a corner, suddenly awoke and was at once alert, startled and alarmed. He clutched the seat in front of him as if he would spring towards the spot whence the music came. His eyes, fixed42 on the choir43, glared as the eyes of one who sees a ghost. His countenance bore the pallor of death. He trembled in every fibre of his body.
He knew the voice. It was to him the dearest in the world. It was a voice from “out of the depths,” for it belonged to one whom he believed to be dead. He could not see the singer; but he could see, as in a dream, the vision of a piteous face, a face with eyes as blue as a summer lake, with lips whimsical, tantalising and ineffable44; could see the tender cheek, the chin, the white forehead, the waving hair. He knew that she who sang was no other than Blanche d’Entrevannes, whom he had loved and to whom he was still devoted45.
But a few years past he had held her in his arms, had kissed those lips, and had thrilled to the magic of that voice. Her father had frowned upon their hopes and had forbidden their union. The lad had been called away to the wars. When he returned he had sought her out and was told that “she is dead.” He haunted every spot where they had wandered together, only to learn the truth that “no place is so forlorn as that where she has been,” and only to hear again that she was dead.
Blanche was not dead, but, believing their case to be hopeless, she had entered the convent of St. Pons and, in a few days’ time, would take the veil.
After the service the youth—whose name was Raimbaud de Trects—disappeared to find the singer at any cost. The search was difficult. At last he met a sympathetic maid who said that Blanche d’Entrevannes was indeed a novice46 in the convent and who, with little pressing, agreed to convey a message to her. The message was short. It told that he was there and begged her to fly with him that night. The answer that the maid brought back was briefer still, for it was a message of two words—“I come.”
The rain continued to pour, the harsh wind blew and the gallant5 knights47 were still in need of shelter. How they spent the night and how they were disposed of I do not know, for the strict narrative48 avoids all reference to that matter.
By the morning the storm had passed away and as the sun broke out the young men reluctantly prepared to take their leave. The abbess would not allow them to go without one final ceremony. They must all drink the stirrup cup together, “to speed the parting guest,” as was the custom of the time. It was an hilarious49 ceremony and one pleasant to look upon. In the road before the convent gate stood the cheery abbess in the light of the unflinching day. In her hand she raised a brimming goblet50 and her sleeve falling back revealed a white and comely arm. Around her was a smiling company of young men whose many-coloured costumes lit up the dull road and the old grey-tinted rocks. Behind her were the nuns in a semicircle of sober brown, giggling51 and chatting, nudging one another and a little anxious about their looks in the merciless morning light. It was a noisy gathering52 but very picturesque53; for the scarlet54 and blue of the knights’ doublets and the glint of steel made a pretty contrast with the row of white faces in white coifs and the cluster of dark-coloured gowns. It was like a bunch of flowers in an earthenware55 bowl.
The abbess, beaming as the morning, was about to speak when something terrible came to pass. There appeared in the road the most dread-inspiring thing that the company of knights and nuns could have feared to see. It was not a lion nor was it a dragon. It was a bishop56. It was not one of those fat, smiling bishops57 with flabby cheeks and ample girth, whose loose mouth breathes benevolence58 and whose hands love to pat curly heads and trifle with pretty chins. It was a thin bishop with a face like parchment and the visage of a hawk59. He was frenzied60 with rage. He stamped and shrieked61. He foamed62 at the mouth. His arm seemed raised to strike, his teeth to bite.
A word must here be said to explain how it was that the prelate had “dropped in” at this singularly unfortunate moment, since bishops are not usually wandering about in valleys at an early hour on November mornings. It came about in this way. The old almoner of the place, alarmed and horrified63 at the conduct of the abbess and the irreverent and indeed ribald “goings-on” at this religious house, had hurried during the night to the bishop and had given him an insight into convent life as lived at St. Pons. He begged the bishop to do something, and this the bishop did.
The arrival of the prelate at the convent gate had the effect of a sudden thunder-clap on a clear day. The abbess dropped her cup; the knights doffed64 their caps; the maids, peeping behind corners, fell out of sight; while the nuns stood petrified65 like a row of brown stones.
The great cleric screamed out his condemnation66 of the abbess, of the nuns, of the convent and of everything that was in it. He shrieked until he became inarticulate and until his voice had sunk to a venomous whisper like the hiss67 of a snake. He dismissed the young gallants with a speech that would have withered68 a worm. Turning to the women he said even more horrid69 things. He expelled the abbess and the nuns from St. Pons and ordered them to repair at once to the convent of St. Pierre d’Almanarre near Hyères, a convent notable for the severity of its rules. Here, as the historian says, they would be able “to expiate70 their sins with austerities to which they had long been strangers.”
It was in this way that the convent of St. Pons came to an end; for the desecrated71 building was never occupied from that day. No nun13 ever again paced its quiet courtyard; no pigeons came fluttering to the sister’s hand nor did the passer-by hear again the sound of women singing in the small grey chapel72. In the course of centuries the building fell into ruin and, year by year, the scandalised walls crumbled73 away, while tender rosemary and chiding74 brambles crept over the place to cover its shame.
On this eventful morning the bishop’s efforts did not end when he had sentenced the lady abbess and had swept the convent from the earth. He proceeded, before he left, to pronounce over the assembly the anathema75 of the Church. He cursed them all from the abbess standing76 with bowed head to the scullion gaping77 from the kitchen door. He cursed the nuns, the novices78, the lay helpers and the maids, and had there been a jackdaw in the building, as at Rheims, he would, no doubt, have included the bird in his anathema. So wide and so comprehensive a cursing, delivered before breakfast, had never before been known.
Two of the party—and two only—escaped the curse of the Church, Raimbaud de Trects and Blanche d’Entrevannes. It was not until the morning, when the whole of the company were assembled about the convent gate, that the two were missed.
The historian, in his mercy, adds this note at the end of his narrative: “In the parish register of the village of Entrevannes, in the year 1408, there stands the record of the marriage of the chevalier Raimbaud de Trects to the noble lady Blanche d’Entrevannes.”
[8]
“Legendes et Contes de Provence,” by Martrin-Donos.
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1
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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lengthening
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的现在分词 )； 加长 | |
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3
beech
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| n.山毛榉；adj.山毛榉的 | |
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copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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5
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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6
ramble
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| v.漫步，漫谈，漫游；n.漫步，闲谈，蔓延 | |
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loath
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| adj.不愿意的；勉强的 | |
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cramped
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| a.狭窄的 | |
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rumble
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| n.隆隆声；吵嚷；v.隆隆响；低沉地说 | |
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10
slashed
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| v.挥砍( slash的过去式和过去分词 )；鞭打；割破；削减 | |
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11
ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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nuns
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| n.（通常指基督教的）修女， （佛教的）尼姑( nun的名词复数 ) | |
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13
nun
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| n.修女，尼姑 | |
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14
austere
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| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
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15
comely
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| adj.漂亮的，合宜的 | |
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16
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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17
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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18
abject
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| adj.极可怜的，卑屈的 | |
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19
humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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20
meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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21
demur
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| v．表示异议，反对 | |
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22
janitor
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| n.看门人，管门人 | |
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24
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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25
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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26
stoutness
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| 坚固，刚毅 | |
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meridian
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| adj.子午线的；全盛期的 | |
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28
heartiness
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| 诚实，热心 | |
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29
mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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30
chattered
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| （人）喋喋不休( chatter的过去式 )； 唠叨； （牙齿）打战； （机器）震颤 | |
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31
rippled
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| 使泛起涟漪（ripple的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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32
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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33
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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34
stammer
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| n.结巴，口吃；v.结结巴巴地说 | |
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35
disapproval
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| n.反对，不赞成 | |
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36
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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37
copious
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| adj.丰富的，大量的 | |
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38
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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39
dozed
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| v.打盹儿，打瞌睡( doze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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40
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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41
pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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42
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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43
choir
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| n.唱诗班，唱诗班的席位，合唱团，舞蹈团；v.合唱 | |
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44
ineffable
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| adj.无法表达的，不可言喻的 | |
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45
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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46
novice
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| adj.新手的，生手的 | |
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47
knights
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| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
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48
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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49
hilarious
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| adj.充满笑声的，欢闹的；[反]depressed | |
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50
goblet
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| n.高脚酒杯 | |
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51
giggling
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的现在分词 ) | |
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52
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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53
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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54
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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55
earthenware
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| n.土器，陶器 | |
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56
bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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57
bishops
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| （基督教某些教派管辖大教区的）主教( bishop的名词复数 )； （国际象棋的）象 | |
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58
benevolence
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| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
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59
hawk
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| n.鹰，骗子；鹰派成员 | |
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60
frenzied
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| a.激怒的；疯狂的 | |
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61
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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62
foamed
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| 泡沫的 | |
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63
horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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64
doffed
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| v.脱去，（尤指）脱帽( doff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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65
petrified
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| adj.惊呆的；目瞪口呆的v.使吓呆，使惊呆；变僵硬；使石化(petrify的过去式和过去分词) | |
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66
condemnation
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| n.谴责; 定罪 | |
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67
hiss
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| v.发出嘶嘶声；发嘘声表示不满 | |
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68
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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69
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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70
expiate
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| v.抵补，赎罪 | |
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71
desecrated
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| 毁坏或亵渎( desecrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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72
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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73
crumbled
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| （把…）弄碎， （使）碎成细屑( crumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 衰落； 坍塌； 损坏 | |
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74
chiding
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| v.责骂，责备( chide的现在分词 ) | |
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75
anathema
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| n.诅咒；被诅咒的人(物)，十分讨厌的人(物) | |
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76
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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77
gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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78
novices
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| n.新手( novice的名词复数 )；初学修士（或修女）；（修会等的）初学生；尚未赢过大赛的赛马 | |
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