His conversation was gay and affable. He put himself on a level with the two old women who had passed their lives beside him. When he laughed, it was the laugh of a schoolboy. Madame Magloire liked to call him Your Grace [Votre Grandeur]. One day he rose from his arm-chair, and went to his library in search of a book. This book was on one of the upper shelves. As the bishop was rather short of stature, he could not reach it. "Madame Magloire," said he, "fetch me a chair. My greatness [grandeur] does not reach as far as that shelf."
One of his distant relatives, Madame la Comtesse de Lo, rarely allowed an opportunity to escape of enumerating, in his presence, what she designated as "the expectations" of her three sons. She had numerous relatives, who were very old and near to death, and of whom her sons were the natural heirs. The youngest of the three was to receive from a grand-aunt a good hundred thousand livres of income; the second was the heir by entail to the title of the Duke, his uncle; the eldest was to succeed to the peerage of his grandfather. The Bishop was accustomed to listen in silence to these innocent and pardonable maternal boasts. On one occasion, however, he appeared to be more thoughtful than usual, while Madame de Lo was relating once again the details of all these inheritances and all these "expectations." She interrupted herself impatiently: "Mon Dieu, cousin! What are you thinking about?" "I am thinking," replied the Bishop, "of a singular remark, which is to be found, I believe, in St. Augustine,-`Place your hopes in the man from whom you do not inherit.'"
At another time, on receiving a notification of the decease of a gentleman of the country-side, wherein not only the dignities of the dead man, but also the feudal and noble qualifications of all his relatives, spread over an entire page: "What a stout back Death has!" he exclaimed. "What a strange burden of titles is cheerfully imposed on him, and how much wit must men have, in order thus to press the tomb into the service of vanity!"
He was gifted, on occasion, with a gentle raillery, which almost always concealed a serious meaning. In the course of one Lent, a youthful vicar came to D----, and preached in the cathedral. He was tolerably eloquent. The subject of his sermon was charity. He urged the rich to give to the poor, in order to avoid hell, which he depicted in the most frightful manner of which he was capable, and to win paradise, which he represented as charming and desirable. Among the audience there was a wealthy retired merchant, who was somewhat of a usurer, named M. Geborand, who had amassed two millions in the manufacture of coarse cloth, serges, and woollen galloons. Never in his whole life had M. Geborand bestowed alms on any poor wretch. After the delivery of that sermon, it was observed that he gave a sou every Sunday to the poor old beggar-women at the door of the cathedral. There were six of them to share it. One day the Bishop caught sight of him in the act of bestowing this charity, and said to his sister, with a smile, "There is M. Geborand purchasing paradise for a sou."
When it was a question of charity, he was not to be rebuffed even by a refusal, and on such occasions he gave utterance to remarks which induced reflection. Once he was begging for the poor in a drawing-room of the town; there was present the Marquis de Champtercier, a wealthy and avaricious old man, who contrived to be, at one and the same time, an ultra-royalist and an ultra-Voltairian. This variety of man has actually existed. When the Bishop came to him, he touched his arm, "You must give me something, M. le Marquis." The Marquis turned round and answered dryly, "I have poor people of my own, Monseigneur." "Give them to me," replied the Bishop.
One day he preached the following sermon in the cathedral:--
"My very dear brethren, my good friends, there are thirteen hundred and twenty thousand peasants' dwellings in France which have but three openings; eighteen hundred and seventeen thousand hovels which have but two openings, the door and one window; and three hundred and forty-six thousand cabins besides which have but one opening, the door. And this arises from a thing which is called the tax on doors and windows. Just put poor families, old women and little children, in those buildings, and behold the fevers and maladies which result! Alas! God gives air to men; the law sells it to them. I do not blame the law, but I bless God. In the department of the Isere, in the Var, in the two departments of the Alpes, the Hautes, and the Basses, the peasants have not even wheelbarrows; they transport their manure on the backs of men; they have no candles, and they burn resinous sticks, and bits of rope dipped in pitch. That is the state of affairs throughout the whole of the hilly country of Dauphine. They make bread for six months at one time; they bake it with dried cow-dung. In the winter they break this bread up with an axe, and they soak it for twenty-four hours, in order to render it eatable. My brethren, have pity! Behold the suffering on all sides of you!"
Born a Provencal, he easily familiarized himself with the dialect of the south. He said, "En be! moussu, ses sage?" as in lower Languedoc; "Onte anaras passa?" as in the Basses-Alpes; "Puerte un bouen moutu embe un bouen fromage grase," as in upper Dauphine. This pleased the people extremely, and contributed not a little to win him access to all spirits. He was perfectly at home in the thatched cottage and in the mountains. He understood how to say the grandest things in the most vulgar of idioms. As he spoke all tongues, he entered into all hearts.
Moreover, he was the same towards people of the world and towards the lower classes. He condemned nothing in haste and without taking circumstances into account. He said, "Examine the road over which the fault has passed."
Being, as he described himself with a smile, an ex-sinner, he had none of the asperities of austerity, and he professed, with a good deal of distinctness, and without the frown of the ferociously virtuous, a doctrine which may be summed up as follows:--
"Man has upon him his flesh, which is at once his burden and his temptation. He drags it with him and yields to it. He must watch it, cheek it, repress it, and obey it only at the last extremity. There may be some fault even in this obedience; but the fault thus committed is venial; it is a fall, but a fall on the knees which may terminate in prayer.
"To be a saint is the exception; to be an upright man is the rule. Err, fall, sin if you will, but be upright.
"The least possible sin is the law of man. No sin at all is the dream of the angel. All which is terrestrial is subject to sin. Sin is a gravitation."
When he saw everyone exclaiming very loudly, and growing angry very quickly, "Oh! oh!" he said, with a smile; "to all appearance, this is a great crime which all the world commits. These are hypocrisies which have taken fright, and are in haste to make protest and to put themselves under shelter."
He was indulgent towards women and poor people, on whom the burden of human society rest. He said, "The faults of women, of children, of the feeble, the indigent, and the ignorant, are the fault of the husbands, the fathers, the masters, the strong, the rich, and the wise."
He said, moreover, "Teach those who are ignorant as many things as possible; society is culpable, in that it does not afford instruction gratis; it is responsible for the night which it produces. This soul is full of shadow; sin is therein committed. The guilty one is not the person who has committed the sin, but the person who has created the shadow."
It will be perceived that he had a peculiar manner of his own of judging things: I suspect that he obtained it from the Gospel.
One day he heard a criminal case, which was in preparation and on the point of trial, discussed in a drawing-room. A wretched man, being at the end of his resources, had coined counterfeit money, out of love for a woman, and for the child which he had had by her. Counterfeiting was still punishable with death at that epoch. The woman had been arrested in the act of passing the first false piece made by the man. She was held, but there were no proofs except against her. She alone could accuse her lover, and destroy him by her confession. She denied; they insisted. She persisted in her denial. Thereupon an idea occurred to the attorney for the crown. He invented an infidelity on the part of the lover, and succeeded, by means of fragments of letters cunningly presented, in persuading the unfortunate woman that she had a rival, and that the man was deceiving her. Thereupon, exasperated by jealousy, she denounced her lover, confessed all, proved all. The man was ruined. He was shortly to be tried at Aix with his accomplice. They were relating the matter, and each one was expressing enthusiasm over the cleverness of the magistrate.
By bringing jealousy into play, he had caused the truth to burst forth in wrath, he had educed the justice of revenge. The Bishop listened to all this in silence. When they had finished, he inquired,--
"Where are this man and woman to be tried?"
"At the Court of Assizes."
He went on, "And where will the advocate of the crown be tried?"
A tragic event occurred at D---- A man was condemned to death for murder. He was a wretched fellow, not exactly educated, not exactly ignorant, who had been a mountebank at fairs, and a writer for the public. The town took a great interest in the trial. On the eve of the day fixed for the execution of the condemned man, the chaplain of the prison fell ill. A priest was needed to attend the criminal in his last moments. They sent for the cure. It seems that he refused to come, saying, "That is no affair of mine. I have nothing to do with that unpleasant task, and with that mountebank: I, too, am ill; and besides, it is not my place." This reply was reported to the Bishop, who said, "Monsieur le Cure is right: it is not his place; it is mine."
He went instantly to the prison, descended to the cell of the "mountebank," called him by name, took him by the hand, and spoke to him. He passed the entire day with him, forgetful of food and sleep, praying to God for the soul of the condemned man, and praying the condemned man for his own. He told him the best truths, which are also the most simple. He was father, brother, friend; he was bishop only to bless. He taught him everything, encouraged and consoled him. The man was on the point of dying in despair. Death was an abyss to him. As he stood trembling on its mournful brink, he recoiled with horror. He was not sufficiently ignorant to be absolutely indifferent. His condemnation, which had been a profound shock, had, in a manner, broken through, here and there, that wall which separates us from the mystery of things, and which we call life. He gazed incessantly beyond this world through these fatal breaches, and beheld only darkness. The Bishop made him see light.
On the following day, when they came to fetch the unhappy wretch, the Bishop was still there. He followed him, and exhibited himself to the eyes of the crowd in his purple camail and with his episcopal cross upon his neck, side by side with the criminal bound with cords.
He mounted the tumbril with him, he mounted the scaffold with him. The sufferer, who had been so gloomy and cast down on the preceding day, was radiant. He felt that his soul was reconciled, and he hoped in God. The Bishop embraced him, and at the moment when the knife was about to fall, he said to him: "God raises from the dead him whom man slays; he whom his brothers have rejected finds his Father once more. Pray, believe, enter into life: the Father is there." When he descended from the scaffold, there was something in his look which made the people draw aside to let him pass. They did not know which was most worthy of admiration, his pallor or his serenity. On his return to the humble dwelling, which he designated, with a smile, as his palace, he said to his sister, "I have just officiated pontifically."
Since the most sublime things are often those which are the least understood, there were people in the town who said, when commenting on this conduct of the Bishop, "It is affectation."
This, however, was a remark which was confined to the drawing-rooms. The populace, which perceives no jest in holy deeds, was touched, and admired him.
As for the Bishop, it was a shock to him to have beheld the guillotine, and it was a long time before he recovered from it.
In fact, when the scaffold is there, all erected and prepared, it has something about it which produces hallucination. One may feel a certain indifference to the death penalty, one may refrain from pronouncing upon it, from saying yes or no, so long as one has not seen a guillotine with one's own eyes: but if one encounters one of them, the shock is violent; one is forced to decide, and to take part for or against. Some admire it, like de Maistre; others execrate it, like Beccaria. The guillotine is the concretion of the law; it is called vindicte; it is not neutral, and it does not permit you to remain neutral. He who sees it shivers with the most mysterious of shivers. All social problems erect their interrogation point around this chopping-knife. The scaffold is a vision. The scaffold is not a piece of carpentry; the scaffold is not a machine; the scaffold is not an inert bit of mechanism constructed of wood, iron and cords.
It seems as though it were a being, possessed of I know not what sombre initiative; one would say that this piece of carpenter's work saw, that this machine heard, that this mechanism understood, that this wood, this iron, and these cords were possessed of will. In the frightful meditation into which its presence casts the soul the scaffold appears in terrible guise, and as though taking part in what is going on. The scaffold is the accomplice of the executioner; it devours, it eats flesh, it drinks blood; the scaffold is a sort of monster fabricated by the judge and the carpenter, a spectre which seems to live with a horrible vitality composed of all the death which it has inflicted.
Therefore, the impression was terrible and profound; on the day following the execution, and on many succeeding days, the Bishop appeared to be crushed. The almost violent serenity of the funereal moment had disappeared; the phantom of social justice tormented him. He, who generally returned from all his deeds with a radiant satisfaction, seemed to be reproaching himself. At times he talked to himself, and stammered lugubrious monologues in a low voice. This is one which his sister overheard one evening and preserved: "I did not think that it was so monstrous. It is wrong to become absorbed in the divine law to such a degree as not to perceive human law. Death belongs to God alone. By what right do men touch that unknown thing?"
In course of time these impressions weakened and probably vanished. Nevertheless, it was observed that the Bishop thenceforth avoided passing the place of execution.
M. Myriel could be summoned at any hour to the bedside of the sick and dying. He did not ignore the fact that therein lay his greatest duty and his greatest labor. Widowed and orphaned families had no need to summon him; he came of his own accord. He understood how to sit down and hold his peace for long hours beside the man who had lost the wife of his love, of the mother who had lost her child. As he knew the moment for silence he knew also the moment for speech. Oh, admirable consoler! He sought not to efface sorrow by forgetfulness, but to magnify and dignify it by hope. He said:--
"Have a care of the manner in which you turn towards the dead. Think not of that which perishes. Gaze steadily. You will perceive the living light of your well-beloved dead in the depths of heaven." He knew that faith is wholesome. He sought to counsel and calm the despairing man, by pointing out to him the resigned man, and to transform the grief which gazes upon a grave by showing him the grief which fixes its gaze upon a star.
他的谈话是随和而愉快的。他总要求自己适合那两个伴他过活的老妇人的知识水平。当他笑起来，那确是小学生的笑。
马格洛大娘诚心诚意地称他做“大人”。一天，他从他的围椅里站起来走向书橱，要去取一本书。那本书正在顶上的那一格。主教的身材矮小，达不到。
“马格洛大娘，”他说，“请您搬张椅子给我。本大人还‘大’不到那块木板呢。”
他的一个远亲，德·洛伯爵夫人，一有机会，总爱在他跟前数她三个儿子的所谓“希望”。她有几个年纪很老行将就木的长辈，她那几个孩子自然是他们的继承人了。三个中最年幼的一个将从一个姑祖母那里获得一笔整整十万利弗的年金，第二个承继他叔父的公爵头衔，长子应承袭他祖先的世卿爵位。主教平日常听这位做母亲的那些天真可恕的夸耀，从不开口。但有一次，当德·洛夫人又唠唠叨叨提到所有那些承继和“希望”时，他仿佛显得比平日更出神一些。她不耐烦地改变自己的话题说：“我的上帝，我的表哥！您到底在想什么？”“我在想，”主教说，“一句怪话，大概出自圣奥古斯丁：‘把你们的希望寄托在那个无可承继者的身上吧。’”
另一次，他接到本乡一个贵人的讣告，一大张纸上所铺排的，除了亡人的各种荣衔以外，还把他所有一切亲属的各种封建的和贵族的尊称全列了上去。他叫着说：“死人的脊骨多么结实！别人把一副多么显赫的头衔担子叫他轻快地背着！这些人也够聪明了，坟墓也被虚荣心所利用！”
他一有机会，总爱说一些温和的讥诮言词，但几乎每次都含着严正的意义。一次，在封斋节，有个年轻的助理主教来到迪涅，在天主堂里讲道。他颇有口才，讲题是“慈善”。他要求富人拯救穷人，以免堕入他尽力形容的那种阴森可怕的地狱，而进入据他所说非常美妙动人的天堂。在当时的听众中，有个叫惹波兰先生的歇了业的商人，这人平时爱放高利贷，在制造大布、哔叽、毛布和高呢帽时赚了五十万。惹波兰先生生平从没有救助过任何穷人。自从那次讲道以后，大家都看见他每逢星期日总拿一个苏①给天主堂大门口的那几个乞讨的老婆婆。她们六个人得去分那个苏。一天，主教撞见他在行那件善事，他笑嘻嘻向他的妹子说：“惹波兰先生又在那儿买他那一个苏的天堂了。”
谈到慈善事业时，他即使碰壁也不退缩，并还想得出一些耐人寻味的话。一次，他在城里某家客厅里为穷人募捐。在座的有一个商特西侯爵，年老，有钱，吝啬，他有方法同时做极端保王党和极端伏尔泰②派。那样的怪事是有过的。主教走到他跟前，推推他的手臂说：“侯爵先生，您得替我捐几文。”侯爵转过脸去，干脆回答说：“我的主教，我有我自己的穷人呢。”
①苏（sou），法国辅币名，相当于二十分之一法郎，即五生丁。
②伏尔泰（Voltaire，1694?778），一生强烈反对封建制度和贵族僧侣的统治权。
“把他们交给我就是了。”主教说。
一天，在天主堂里，他这样布道：
“我极敬爱的兄弟们，我的好朋友们，在法国的农村中，有一百三十二万所房子都只有三个洞口；一百八十一万七千所有两个洞口，就是门和窗；还有二十四万六千个棚子都只有一个洞口，那就是门。这是因为那种所谓门窗税才搞到如此地步。请你们替我把一些穷人家、老太婆、小孩子塞在那些房子里吧，瞧有多少热症和疾病！咳！上帝把空气给人，法律却拿空气做买卖。我并不诋毁法律，但是我颂扬上帝。在伊泽尔省，瓦尔省，两个阿尔卑斯省，就是上下阿尔卑斯省，那些农民连小车也没有，他们用自己的背去背肥料；他们没有蜡烛，点的
是松枝和蘸着松脂的小段绳子。在多菲内省，全部山区也是那样的。他们做一次面包要吃六个月，并且是用干牛粪烘出来的。到了冬天，他们用斧子把那种面包砍开，放在水里浸上二十四个钟头才能吃。我的弟兄们，发发善心吧！看看你们四周的人多么受罪！”
他出生在南部，所以很容易掌握南方的各种方言。他学下朗格多克省的方言：“Ehbé！moussu，sèssagé？”学下阿尔卑斯省的方言：“Ontéanaraspassa？”学上多菲内省的方言：
“Puerteunbouenmoutouembeunbouenfroumageg
rase”
这样就博得了群众的欢心，大大帮助了他去接近各种各样的人。他在茅屋里或山中，正象在自己的家里，他知道用最俚俗的方言去说明最伟大的事物。他能说各种语言，也就能和一切心灵打成一片。
并且他对上层的人和人民大众都是一样的。
他在没有充分了解周围环境时从不粗率地判断一件事。
他常说：“让我们先研究研究发生这错误的经过吧。”
他原是个回头的浪子，他也常笑嘻嘻地那样形容自己。他丝毫不唱严格主义的高调；他大力宣传一种教义，但绝不象那些粗暴的卫道者那样横眉怒目，他那教义大致可以这样概括：
“人有肉体，这肉体同时就是人的负担和诱惑。人拖着它并受它的支配。
“人应当监视它，约束它，抑制它，必须是到了最后才服从它。在那样的服从里，也还可以有过失；但那样犯下的过失是可蒙赦宥的。那是一种堕落，但只落在膝头上，在祈祷中还可以自赎。
“做一个圣人，那是特殊情形；做一个正直的人，那却是为人的正轨。你们尽管在歧路徘徊，失足，犯错误，但总应当做个正直的人。
“尽量少犯错误，这是人的准则；不犯错误，那是天使的梦想。尘世的一切都免不了犯错误。错误就象一种地心吸力。”
当他看见大家吵闹并且轻易动怒时，他常笑嘻嘻地说：“看来这就是我们大家都在犯的严重罪行呢。现在只因为假面具被揭穿急于申明和掩饰罢了。”
他对于人类社会所压迫的妇女和穷人总是宽厚的。他说：“凡是妇女、孩子、仆役、没有力量的、贫困的和没有知识的人的过失，都是丈夫、父亲、主人、豪强者、有钱的和有学问的人的过失。”
他又说：“对无知识的人，你们应当尽你们所能的多多地教给他们；社会的罪在于不办义务教育；它负有制造黑暗的责任。当一个人的心中充满黑暗，罪恶便在那里滋长起来。有罪的并不是犯罪的人，而是那制造黑暗的人。”
我们看得出，他有一种奇特和独有的批判事物的态度。我怀疑他是从《福音书》中得到这一切的。
一天，他在一个客厅里听到大家谈一桩正在研究调查、不久就要交付审判的案子。有个穷苦无告的人，为了他对一个女子和所生孩子的爱，在生路断绝时铸了私钱。铸私钱在那个时代是要受极刑的。那女子拿着他所造的第一个私钱去用，被捕了。他们把她抓了起来，但是只有她本人犯罪的证据。只有她一个人能告发她的情人，送他的命。她不肯招供。他们再三追问。她仍坚决不招供。这样，检察长心生一计。他编造她的情人变了心，极巧妙地伪造许多信札的断片，来说服那个苦恼的女人，使她相信她有一个情敌，那男子有负心的行为。在妒恨悲愤之中，她终于举发她的情人，一切都招供了，一切都证实了。那男子是无法挽救了。不久他就得在艾克斯和他的同谋女犯一同受审。大家谈着那件事，每个人都称赞那官员的才干，说他能利用妒嫉之心，因愤怒而真相大白，法律的威力也因报复的心理而得以伸张。主教静悄悄地听着这一切，等到大家说完了，他问道：
“那一对男女将在什么地方受审？”
“在地方厅。”
他又问：“那么，那位检察长将在什么地方受审呢？”
迪涅发生过一件惨事。有个人因谋害人命而被判处死刑。那个不幸的人并不是什么读书人，但也不是完全无知无识的人，他曾在市集上卖技，也摆过书信摊。城里的人对那案子非常关心。在行刑的前一日，驻狱神甫忽然害了病。必须有个神甫在那受刑的人临终时帮助他。有人去找本堂神甫。他好象有意拒绝，他说：“这不关我事。这种苦差事和那耍把戏的人和我都不相干，我也正害着病，况且那地方下属我的范围。”他这答复传到主教那儿去了。主教说：“本堂神甫说得对。那不属于他的范围，而是属于我的。”
他立刻跑到监狱去，下到那“耍把戏的人”的牢房里，他叫他的名字，搀着他的手，和他谈话。他在他的身旁整整过了一天一夜，饮食睡眠全忘了，他为那囚犯的灵魂向上帝祈祷，也祈求那囚犯拯救他自己的灵魂。他和他谈着最善的、亦即最简单的真理。他直象他的父亲、兄长、朋友；如果不是在祝福祈祷，他就一点也不象个主教。他在稳定他和安慰他的同时，把一切都教给他了。那个人原是要悲痛绝望而死的。在先，死对他好象是个万丈深渊，他站在那阴惨的边缘上，一面战栗，一面又心胆俱裂地向后退却。他并没有冥顽到对死活也绝不关心的地步。他受到的判决是一种剧烈的震撼，仿佛在他四周的某些地方，把隔在万物的神秘和我们所谓生命中间的那堵墙震倒了。他从那无法补救的缺口不停地望着这世界的外面，而所见的只是一片黑暗。主教却使他见到了一线光明。
第二天，他们来提这不幸的人了，主教仍在他身旁。他跟着他走。他披上紫披肩，颈上悬着主教的十字架，和那被缚在绳索中的临难人并肩站在大众的面前。
他和他一同上囚车，一同上断头台。那个受刑的人，昨天是那样愁惨，那样垂头丧气，现在却舒展兴奋起来了。他觉得他的灵魂得了救，他期待着上帝。主教拥抱了他，当刀子将要落下时，他说：“人所杀的人，上帝使他复活；弟兄们所驱逐的人得重见天父。祈祷，信仰，到生命里去。天父就在前面。”他从断头台上下来时，他的目光里有种东西使众人肃然退立。我们不知道究竟哪一样最使人肃然起敬，是他面色的惨白呢，还是他神宇的宁静。在回到他一惯戏称为“他的宫殿”的那所破屋子里时，他对他的妹子说：“我刚刚进行了一场隆重的大典。”
最卓越的东西也常是最难被人了解的东西，因此，城里有许多人在议论主教那一举动，说那是矫揉造作。不过那是上层阶级客厅里的一种说法。对圣事活动不怀恶意的人民却感动了，并且十分钦佩主教。
至于主教，对他来说，看断头台行刑确是一种震动；过了许久，他才镇定下来。
断头台，的确，当它被架起来屹立在那里时，是具有一种使人眩惑的力量的；在我们不曾亲眼见过断头台前，我们对死刑多少还能漠然视之，不表示自己的意见，不置可否；但是，如果我们见到了一座，那种惊骇真是强烈，我们非作出决定，非表示赞同或反对不可。有些人赞叹它，如德·梅斯特尔①。有些人痛恨它，如贝卡里亚②。断头台是法律的体现，它的别名是“镇压”，它不是中立的，也不让人中立。看见它的人都产生最神秘的战栗。所有的社会问题都在那把板斧的四周举起了它们的问号。断头台是想象。断头台不是一个架子。断头台不是一种机器。断头台不是由木条、铁器和绳索所构成的无生气的机械。它好象是种生物，具有一种说不出的阴森森的主动能力。我们可以说那架子能看见，那座机器能听见，那种机械能了解，那些木条铁件和绳索都具有意识。当它的出现把我们的心灵抛入凶恶的梦想时，断头台就显得怪可怕，并和它所作所为的一切都结合在一起了。断头台是刽子手的同伙，它在吞噬东西，在吃肉，在饮血。断头台是法官和木工合造的怪物，是一种鬼怪，它以自己所制造的死亡为生命而进行活动。
①德·梅斯特尔（deMaistre，1753?821），法国神学家。
②贝卡里亚（Beccaria，1738?794），意大利启蒙运动的著名代表人物，法学家，主张宽刑。
那次的印象也确是可怕和深刻的，行刑的第二天和许多天以后，主教还表现出惶惶不可终日的样子。送死时那种强迫的镇静已经消逝了，社会威权下的鬼魂和他纠缠不清，他平时工作回来，素来心安理得，神采奕奕，这时他却老象是在责备自己。有时，他自言自语，吞吞吐吐，低声说着一些凄惨的话。下面是他妹子在一天晚上听了记下来的一段：“我从前还不知道是那么可怕。只专心注意上帝的法则而不关心人的法律，那是错误的。死只属于上帝，人有什么权力过问那件未被认识的事呢？”
那些印象随着时间渐渐减褪或竟消失了，但是人们察觉到，从此以后，主教总避免经过那刑场。
人们可以在任何时候把主教叫到病人和临死的人的床边。他深深知道他最大的职责和最大的任务是在那些地方。寡妇和孤女的家，不用请，他自己就会去的。他知道在失去爱妻的男子和失去孩子的母亲身旁静静坐上几个钟头。他既懂得闭口的时刻，也就懂得开口的时刻。呵！可敬可佩的安慰人的人！他不以遗忘来消除苦痛，却希望去使苦痛显得伟大和光荣。他说：“要注意您对死者的想法。不要在那溃烂的东西上去想。定神去看，您就会在穹苍的极尽处看到您亲爱的死者的生命之光。”他知道信仰能护人心身。他总设法去慰藉失望的人，使他们能退一步着想，使俯视墓穴的悲痛转为仰望星光的悲痛。