PETIT PICPUS.
CHAPTER I
NO. 62, RUE PICPUS.
Half a century ago nothing more resembled any ordinary porte-cochèrethan that of No. 62, Petite Rue Picpus. This door, generally halfopen in the most inviting manner, allowed you to see two things whichare not of a very mournful nature,--a court-yard with walls coveredwith vines, and the face of a lounging porter. Above the bottom walltall trees could be seen, and when a sunbeam enlivened the yard, anda glass of wine had enlivened the porter, it was difficult to passbefore No. 62 and not carry away a laughing idea. And yet, you had hada glimpse of a very gloomy place. The threshold smiled, but the houseprayed and wept. If you succeeded, which was not easy, in passing theporter--as was, indeed, impossible for nearly all, for there was an"Open, Sesame," which it was necessary to know--you entered on theright a small hall from which ran a staircase enclosed between twowalls, and so narrow that only one person could go up at a time: ifyou were not frightened by the canary-colored plaster and chocolatewainscot of this staircase, and still boldly ascended, you crossed twolandings and found yourself in a passage on the first floor, wherethe yellow distemper and chocolate skirting-board followed you with aquiet pertinacity. The staircase and passage were lighted by two finewindows, but the latter soon made a bend and became dark. When you haddoubled this cape, you found yourself before a door, which was the moremysterious because it was not closed. You pushed it open, and foundyourself in a small room about six feet square, well scrubbed, clean,and frigid, and hung with a yellow-green sprigged paper, at fifteensous the piece. A white pale light came through a large window withsmall panes, which was on the left, and occupied the whole width of theroom; you looked about you, but saw nobody; you listened, but heardneither a footstep nor a human sound; the walls were bare, and the roomunfurnished--there was not even a chair.
You looked again, and saw in the wall facing the door a square holecovered with a black knotty substantial cross-barred grating, whichformed diamonds--I had almost written meshes--at least an inch and ahalf across. The little green sprigs on the yellow paper came right upto these bars, calmly and orderly, and the funereal contact did notmake them start or wither. Even supposing that any human being had beenso wondrously thin as to attempt to go in or out by the square hole,the bars would have prevented him: but though they did not let thebody pass, the eyes, that is to say, the mind, could. It seemed as ifthis had been thought of, for it had been lined with a tin plate, inwhich were bored thousands of holes more microscopic than those of astrainer. Beneath this plate was an opening exactly like the mouth ofa letter-box, and a bell-wire hung by the side of this hole. If youpulled this wire, a bell tinkled, and you heard a voice close to youwhich made you start.
"Who is there?" the voice asked.
It was a female voice, a gentle voice, so gentle that it wasmelancholy. Here, again, there was a magic word which it was necessaryto know; if you did not know it, the voice ceased, and the wall becamesilent again, as if the terrifying darkness of the tomb were on theother side. If you knew the word, the voice continued,--"Turn to theright." You then noticed, facing the window, a door, the upper partof which was of gray painted glass. You raised the latch, walkedin, and experienced precisely the same expression as when you entera box at the theatre, before the gilt grating has been lowered andthe chandelier lighted. You were in fact in a species of box, scarcelighted by the faint light that came through the glass door, narrow,furnished with two old chairs and a ragged sofa,--a real box with ablack entablature to represent the front. This box had a grating; butit was not made of gilt wood as at the opera, but was a monstroustrellis-work of frightfully interlaced iron bars, fastened to thewall by enormous clamps that resembled clenched fists. When the firstfew moments were past, and your eye began to grow accustomed to thiscellar-like gloom, you tried to look through the grating, but could notsee more than six inches beyond it; there it met a barrier of blackshutters, connected and strengthened by cross-beams, and painted of aginger-bread yellow. These shutters were jointed, divided into longthin planks, and covered the whole width of the grating; they werealways closed. At the expiration of a few minutes you heard a voicecalling to you from behind the shutters, and saying to you,--
"I am here; what do you want with me?"
It was a loved voice, sometimes an adored voice, but you saw nobody,and could scarce hear the sound of breathing. It seemed as it were anevocation addressing you through the wall of a tomb. If you fulfilledcertain required and very rare conditions, the narrow plank of oneof the shutters opened opposite to you, and the evocation became anapparition. Behind the grating, behind the shutter, you perceived,as far as the grating would allow, a head, of which you only saw themouth and chin, for the rest was covered by a black veil. You caught aglimpse of a black wimple, and of a scarce distinct form covered by ablack pall. This head spoke to you, but did not look at you, and neversmiled. The light that came from behind you was so arranged that yousaw her in brightness and she saw you in darkness; this light was asymbol. Still, your eyes plunged eagerly through the opening into thisplace, closed against all looks; a profound vacuum surrounded this formclothed in mourning. Your eyes investigated this vacuum and tried todistinguish what there was around the apparition, but in a very littletime you perceived that you could see nothing. What you saw was night,emptiness, gloom, a winter fog mingled with the vapor from a tomb; asort of terrifying peace; a silence in which nothing could be heard,not even sighs; a shadow in which nothing could be distinguished,not even phantoms. What you saw was the interior of a nunnery, theinterior of that gloomy and stern house which was called the Convent ofthe Perpetual Adoration. The box in which you found yourself was theparlor, and the first voice that addressed you was that of a lay sisterwho always sat, silent and motionless, on the other side of the wall,near the square opening which was defended by the iron grating and thetin plate with the thousand holes like a double visor.
The obscurity in which the grated box was plunged, resulted from thefact that the parlor, which had a window on the side of the world, hadnone on the side of the convent; profane eyes must not see any portionof this sacred spot. Still, there was something beyond the shadow;there was a light and life amid this death. Although this convent wasthe most strictly immured of all, we will try to enter it and take thereader in with us, and describe, with due regard to decorum, thingswhich novelists have never seen, and consequently never recorded.