Part 46 (1/2)
One day Mrs. Bagot told Trilby that her brother-in-law, Mr. Thomas Bagot, would much like to come and talk to her.
”Was that the gentleman who came with you to the studio in Paris?”
”Yes.”
”Why, he's a clergyman, isn't he? What does he want to come and talk to _me_ about?”
”Ah! my dear child ...” said Mrs. Bagot, her eyes filling.
Trilby was thoughtful for a while, and then said: ”I'm going to die, I suppose. Oh yes! oh yes! There's no mistake about that!”
”Dear Trilby, we are all in the hands of an Almighty Merciful G.o.d!” And the tears rolled down Mrs. Bagot's cheeks.
After a long pause, during which she gazed out of the window, Trilby said, in an abstracted kind of way, as though she were talking to herself: ”Apres tout, c'est pas deja si raide, de claquer! J'en ai tant vus, qui ont pa.s.se par la! Au bout du fosse la culbute, ma foi!”
”What are you saying to yourself in French, Trilby? Your French is so difficult to understand!”
”Oh, I beg your pardon! I was thinking it's not so difficult to die, after all! I've seen such lots of people do it. I've nursed them, you know--papa and mamma and Jeannot, and Angele Boisse's mother-in-law, and a poor ca.s.seur de pierres, Colin Maigret, who lived in the Impa.s.se des Taupes St. Germain. He'd been run over by an omnibus in the Rue Vaugirard, and had to have both his legs cut off just above the knee.
They none of them seemed to mind dying a bit. They weren't a bit afraid!
_I'm_ not!
”Poor people don't think much of death. Rich people shouldn't either.
They should be taught when they're quite young to laugh at it and despise it, like the Chinese. The Chinese die of laughing just as their heads are being cut off, and cheat the executioner! It's all in the day's work, and we're all in the same boat--so who's afraid!”
”Dying is not all, my poor child! Are you prepared to meet your Maker face to face? Have you ever thought about G.o.d, and the possible wrath to come if you should die unrepentant?”
”Oh, but I sha'n't! I've been repenting all my life! Besides, there'll be no wrath for any of us--not even the worst! _Il y aura amnistie generale!_ Papa told me so, and he'd been a clergyman, like Mr. Thomas Bagot. I often think about G.o.d. I'm very fond of Him. One _must_ have something perfect to look up to and be fond of--even if it's only an idea!
”Though some people don't even believe He exists! Le pere Martin didn't--but, of course, _he_ was only a chiffonnier, and doesn't count.
”One day, though, Durien, the sculptor, who's very clever, and a very good fellow indeed, said:
”'Vois-tu, Trilby--I'm very much afraid He doesn't really exist, le bon Dieu! most unfortunately for _me_, for I _adore_ Him! I never do a piece of work without thinking how nice it would be if I could only please _Him_ with it!'
”And I've often thought, myself, how heavenly it must be to be able to paint, or sculpt, or make music, or write beautiful poetry, for that very reason!
”Why, once on a very hot afternoon we were sitting, a lot of us, in the court-yard outside la mere Martin's shop, drinking coffee with an old Invalide called Bastide Lendormi, one of the Vieille Garde, who'd only got one leg and one arm and one eye, and everybody was very fond of him.
Well, a model called Mimi la Salope came out of the Mont-de-piete opposite, and Pere Martin called out to her to come and sit down, and gave her a cup of coffee, and asked her to sing.
”She sang a song of Beranger's, about Napoleon the Great, in which it says:
”'Parlez-nous de lui, grandmere!
Grandmere, parlez-nous de lui!'
I suppose she sang it very well, for it made old Bastide Lendormi cry; and when Pere Martin _blague'd_ him about it, he said,
”'C'est egal, voyez-vous! to sing like that is _to pray_!'