Part 15 (1/2)
M. Coignard wiped his lips and said:
”The reason is that Capuchins love humbly, and never refuse anything.
Another reason is that neither reflection nor courtesy weakens their natural instincts. Sir, yours is a generous wine.”
”You do me too much honour,” replied M. d'Anquetil. ”It is M. de la Gueritude's. I have taken his mistress. I may as well take his bottles.”
”Nothing is more equitable,” said my tutor. ”I see, with pleasure, that you rise above prejudices.”
”Do not praise me, abbe, more than I deserve. My birth renders easy to me what may be difficult for the vulgar. A commoner is compelled to have some restraint in all his doings. He is tied down to rigid probity; but a gentleman enjoys the honour of fighting for his king and his pleasure, and does not need to enc.u.mber himself with foolish trifles. I have seen active service under M. de Villars, and in the War of Succession, and have also run the risk of being killed without any reason in the battle of Parma. The least you can do is to leave me free to lick my servants, to balk my creditors, and take, if it please me, the wives of my friends--likewise their mistresses.”
”You speak n.o.bly,” said my good master, ”and you are careful to maintain the prerogatives of the n.o.bility.”
”I have not,” replied M. d'Anquetil, ”those scruples which intimidate the crowd of ordinary men, and which I consider good only to stop the timorous and restrain the wretched.”
”Well spoken!” said my tutor.
”I do not believe in virtue,” replied the other.
”You're right,” said my master again. ”With his quite peculiar shape, the human animal could not be virtuous without being somewhat deformed.
Look, for an example, on this pretty girl supping with us; on her beautiful bosom, her marvellously rounded form, and the rest. In what part of her enchanting body could she lodge a grain of virtue? There is no room for it; everything is so firm, so juicy, solid, and plump!
Virtue, like the raven, nests in ruins. Her dwellings are the cavities and wrinkles of the human body. I myself, sir, who, since my childhood, have meditated over the austere principles of religion and philosophy, could not insinuate into myself a minimum of virtue otherwise than by means of const.i.tutional flaws produced by sufferings and age. And ever more I absorbed less virtue than pride. In doing so I got into the habit of addressing to the Divine Creator of this world the following prayer: 'My Lord, preserve me from virtue if it is to lead me from G.o.dliness.'
Ah! G.o.dliness; this it is possible and necessary to attain. That is our decent ending. May we reach it some day! In the meantime, give me something to drink.”
”I'll confess,” said M. d'Anquetil, ”that I do not believe in a G.o.d.”
”Now, for once, sir, I must blame you,” said the abbe ”One must believe in G.o.d, and all the truths of our holy religion.”
M. d'Anquetil protested.
”You make game of us, abbe, and take us to be worse ninnies than we really are. As I have said, I do not believe either in G.o.d or devil, and I never go to Ma.s.s--the king's Ma.s.s alone excepted. The sermons of the priests are stories for old women, bearable, perhaps, in such times as when my grandmother saw the Abbe de Choisy, dressed as a woman, distribute the holy bread at the Church of Saint Jacques du Haut Pas.
In those times there may have been religion; to-day there is none, thank G.o.d!”
”By all the Saints and all the devils, don't speak like that, my friend,” exclaimed Catherine. ”As sure as that pie stands on this table G.o.d exists! And if you want a proof of it, let me say, that when, last year, on a certain day, I was in direful distress and penury, I went, on the advice of Friar Ange, to burn a wax candle in the Church of the Capuchins, and on the following I met M. de la Gueritude at the promenade, who gave me this house, with all the furniture it contains, the cellar full of wine, some of which we enjoy to-night, and sufficient money to live honestly.”
”Fie! fie!” said M. d'Anquetil, ”the idiot makes G.o.d Almighty interfere in dirty affairs. This shocks and wounds one's feelings, even if one is an atheist.”
”My dear sir,” said my good tutor, ”it is a great deal better to compromise G.o.d in dirty business, as does that simple-minded girl, than, as you do, to chase Him out of the world He has created. If He has not expressly sent that burly contractor to Catherine, His creature, He at least suffered her to meet him. We are ignorant of His ways, and what this simpleton says contains more truth, maybe mixed and alloyed with blasphemy, than all the vain words a reprobate draws out of the emptiness of his heart. Nothing is more despicable than the libertinism of mind that the youth of our days make a show of. Your words make me s.h.i.+ver. Am I to reply to them by proofs out of the Holy Scriptures and the writings of the fathers? Shall I make you hear G.o.d speaking to the patriarchs and to the prophets: _Si locutus est Abraham et semini ejus in saecula?_ Shall I spread out before you the traditions of the Church?
Invoke against you the authority of both Testaments? Blind you with Christ's miracles, and His words as miraculous as His deeds? No! I will not arm myself with those holy weapons. I fear too much to pollute them in such a fight, which is not at all solemn. In her prudence the Church warns us not to risk turning edification into a scandal. Therefore I will not speak, sir, of that wherewith I have been fed on the steps of sanctuaries. But, without violating the chaste modesty of my soul, and without exposing to profanation the sacred mysteries, I'll show you G.o.d overawing human reason, I'll show you it by the philosophy of pagans, and by the t.i.ttle-tattle of unG.o.dly persons. Yes, sir, I'll make you avow that you recognise Him, against your own free will. Much as you want to pretend He does not exist you cannot but agree that, if a certain order prevails in this world, such order is divine--flows out of the spring and fountain of all order.”
”I agree,” replied M. d'Anquetil, reclining in his armchair and fondling his finely shaped calves.
”Therefore, take care,” said my good tutor. ”When you say that G.o.d does not exist what else are you doing but linking thought, directing reason, and manifesting in your innermost soul, the principle of all thought, and all reason, which is G.o.d? Is it possible only to attempt to establish that He is not, without illuminating, by the most paltry reasoning, which still is reasoning, some remains of the harmony He has established in the universe?”
”Abbe,” replied M. d'Anquetil, ”you are a humorous sophist. It is well known in our days that this world is the work of chance, and it is superfluous to speak of a providence, since natural philosophers have discovered, by means of their telescopes, that winged frogs are living on the moon.”
”Well, sir,” replied my good master, ”I am in no way angry that winged frogs are living on the moon; such kind of marsh-birds are very worthy inhabitants of a world which has not been sanctified by the blood of our Lord Jesus Christ. True, we only know the minor part of the universe, and it is quite possible, as M. d'Asterac says--who is a bit of a fool--that this earth is no more than a spot of mud in the infinity of worlds. Maybe the astronomer Copernicus was not altogether dreaming when he taught that, mathematically, the earth is not the centre of creation.
I have also read that an Italian of the name of Galileo, who died miserably, shared Copernicus' opinion, and in our days we see little M.