“It appears that the good curé, who all his life has been remarkable for his childlike simplicity and credulity, was known at the Séminaire by the sobriquet of ‘Providence,’ which he had acquired from his readiness to believe in the intervention of Heaven, whenever the cause was a worthy one, however trifling it might appear, to vain, weak mortals like ourselves. He had risen one cold, snowy morning in December, to attend early matins at some church in the neighbourhood, and had dressed himself stealthily and in darkness, fearing to disturb his chum, M. de Sèze, who, worldling as he was, snored on, heedless that it was one of the most solemn festivals in all the year, the feast of St. Nicolas. Meanwhile, the good youth stole shivering down the stairs and through the gloomy streets, clasping his breviary beneath his arm, and repeating all the way most eloquent invocations to Our Lady of the Burning Brand, the patroness of charcoal burners, for a little of that warmth which she bestows so liberally upon her votaries, to enable him even to feel the beads of his rosary as he passed them through his stiffened fingers.
“On arriving at the church-door, he was assailed, or rather waylaid, by a poor woman, an old pensioner of his, who rushed forward and fell at his feet the moment he appeared, declaring that she was a lost creature unless he came to her help; that she had passed the whole night wandering in the streets; that her landlord refused to give her admittance to her lodging to take away her few paltry rags, unless she paid him what was owing for the rent, which she had no means of doing unless through his bounty. Now it so happened that the young Séminariste, never overburdened with the good things of this world, found himself at that peculiar moment entirely à sec, and was awaiting his monthly allowance of pocket-money before he could venture to make his appearance among his poor pensioners, so boundless were his charities, so great his nervous dread of being compelled to refuse himself the pleasure of bestowing relief upon the needy—the only pleasure, indeed, which he ever allowed himself to enjoy—the only way in which he suffered himself to expend the scanty pittance which his aged mother could spare from her poor income for procuring, as she imagined, some few luxuries for her son.
“It was in vain, however, that the young abbé endeavoured to assure the poor woman of his utter inability to assist her this once. In vain he endeavoured to shake her off—she clung to his knees—she bathed his feet with her tears—she called on the Lord to bless him, her tender benefactor—she knew that he would relieve her—that he would not have the heart to see her four poor fatherless children turned into the streets to starve. What was a miserable sum of three small crowns (petits écus) to such a noble gentleman? Why, he would not miss such a paltry sum at night, were his pocket picked of it before he returned home.
“‘But my good woman,’ said he, completely overcome by her importunity, ‘rich as you think me, I have not at this moment a single sou in my possession.’
“‘Nay, nay, feel in your pockets, monseigneur; you will surely find enough to save me and my helpless babes from starving. It is not much, my lord bishop (for you will surely become one day a bishop), only three poor crowns!’
“‘But on my word, ma bonne amie, I have it not—were you to search my pockets through, I tell you again, you would not find a single sou.’
“‘Ay, that is ever the way,’ screamed the woman, clinging to the skirt of his soutane, which she held fast in her grasp; ‘that is ever the way with rich and noble gentlemen whose pockets are lined with gold and silver—they never have a coin so small as a single sou—but search, in Heaven’s name, and you will surely find my three poor crowns, which are all that stand between me and perdition.’
“‘Nay, then, if you believe me not—see rather if I tell not truth,’ said the poor lad, completely at his wit’s end; and, as he said the words, he turned the pockets of his soutane inside out—when, what was his surprise (oh, miracle!) out rolled upon the ground three bran new silver small crowns, which seemed to jingle with most heavenly music as they fell at the feet of the poor mendicant, who, with a shriek of joy, gathered them up, and rushed from the church, before the thunderstruck abbé had as yet recovered from the awe and wonder into which the occurrence had thrown him. He remained for some moments riveted to the spot in a sort of beatified trance, unable to imagine it possible that so great a miracle could have been vouchsafed to so unworthy a sinner as himself. Once more he plunged his hands eagerly into the pockets of his soutane—but no other coin was forthcoming. Yes—it was evident—Providence had vouchsafed this miracle by way of encouragement to his weak endeavours. He put up an inward prayer for protection against the sin of self-conceit, as the thought overtook him, and, presently recovering himself, he rushed to the altar of the Virgin, and breathed forth his gratitude at her feet. So great was his emotion, that he resolved at once to spend the whole day in the church, in fasting and in prayer, that no earthly sentiment might mingle with the heavenly feeling thus awakened within him.
“The poor abbé was, indeed, so elevated with the adventure, that he felt neither cold nor hunger, but remained the whole day praying at the different altars; nor did he suffer a morsel to pass his lips until set of sun. He then returned to the Séminaire full of humility and gratitude, determined not to tell his adventure to any of his comrades, in dread of their unbelieving mockery. They were, however, all abroad—for was it not the feast of St. Nicolas, the gayest holiday in the year, the festival of the patron saint of all the youths and unmarried men in France; when even the poor Séminaristes were allowed to spend the evening outside the walls of Saint Sulpice—and they had, of course, all taken advantage of the permission, excepting M. de Sèze, who rushed down the stairs in a perfect fury, as soon as the step of poor ‘Providence’ was heard; and, without a word of explanation, began to kick and cuff him most unmercifully, loading him with reproaches, until he was forced to pause for want of breath; and then the unhappy object of all this wrath was told that he deserved to be thrown from the window of the seventh story, for having deprived, by his carelessness, an old chum and comrade of his day’s holiday, by taking his new soutane in the dark, and leaving his old rusty one in its place; and, worse than all, depriving him of the means of diverting his ennui, by robbing him of his money, three bran new crowns which he had put aside for this very occasion, and which he would find in the left-hand pocket!
“The miracle was then explained! The poor abbé, crest-fallen and discomfited, slunk away, forced to confess the truth, and his utter inability to make good the sum at that moment. The good-natured M. de Sèze was, however, so diverted at the adventure, that he thought himself amply revenged for the annoyance he had suffered, by the mortification which poor ‘Providence’ had to endure and the disappointment he expressed at finding that, after all, he had not been made the object of a miracle.