The priests, in the true monastic spirit, sweep and keep clean their own rooms and even the cloisters; and, from the general air of cleanliness and order that pervades the place, it is evident that the work is well done. This walk through the cloisters of the Jesuit house in Paris would be uninteresting were it not for the remembrance of one ne’er-to-be-forgotten room; and for the sake of the names printed upon the cell doors, bringing back as they do to one’s mind the recollection of past times and weary troubles; and the near presence of men so many of whom have distinguished themselves in working for the cause of holy church.
Tread softly, and be silent now, as ye approach yonder door that bears no printed name; for the key that turns the jealous lock will disclose that to thy gaze which should excite thy intensest feelings of humility!
It is the “Martyrs’ Room,” where are kept the relics of the five heroic men, each one of whom “pro lege Dei sui certavit usque ad mortem et a verbis impiorum non timuit; fundatus enim erat supra firmam petram.”[191]
Anatole de Beugy was arrested with the Père Ducoudray.
“Voilà un nom à vous faire couper le cou,” cried the officer in charge of the party of arrest.
“Oh! j’espère,” replied the father calmly; “que vous ne me ferez pas couper le cou à cause de mon nom.”
I imagine that the officer did not think more highly of F. de Beugy after this. In fact, all through the time of his imprisonment, his captors seem not to have liked him or his indomitable sang froid. His coat is there, in this “Martyrs’ Room” (a secular one, by the bye), and it is pierced with seventy-two Communist bullets—truly, a very palpable proof of his enemies’ animosity.
When the Père Olivaint was on his way to execution, as he descended the stairs of the prison of La Roquette, he found—how naturally!—that he had his breviary tightly grasped in his hand. “They have me,” perhaps he thought, “but they need not have this”; and he presented the book to the concierge of the prison, who had shown him some kindness. God knows what motives the man had, but an officer of the National Guard snatched it from his hand, and threw it into the flames of a fire near by.
The concierge recovered the breviary, or what remained of it, and it is now in the “Martyrs’ Room.”
He who can look upon this relic without emotion must have a very hard heart indeed!