Part 27 (2/2)
I have had that sad experience, and lost myself for having followed untrodden roads. I have listened to my own counsels, and they have conducted me to the abyss. Vicar, I am a poor sinner, the number of my iniquities oppresses me.”
”These are fine words,” said the vicar. ”'Tis G.o.d Himself who dictates them to you. I recognise His inimitable style. Do you want to advance somewhat the salvation of your soul?”
”Willingly,” said M. Coignard. ”My impurities rise against me. I see big ones and small. I see red ones and black. I see infinitesimals which ride on dogs and pigs, and I see others which are fat and naked, with b.r.e.a.s.t.s like leather bottles, bellies in great folds, and thighs of enormous size.”
”Is it possible,” said the vicar, ”that you can see as distinctly as that? But if your faults are such as you say, it would be better not to describe them and to be content to detest them in your own mind.”
”Would you, then, vicar,” replied the abbe, ”that my sins were all made like an Adonis? Don't let us speak of it any more. And you, barber, give me a drink. Do you know M. de la Musardiere?”
”Not that I know of,” said M. Coquebert.
”Then know,” replied my dear master, ”that he was very taken with the ladies.”
”That's the way,” interrupted the vicar, ”by which the devil takes his advantage over men. But what subject do you follow, my son?”
”You'll soon know,” said my good master. ”M. de la Musardiere gave an appointment to a virgin in a stable. She went, and he let her go away just as she entered it. Do you know why?”
”I do not,” said the vicar, ”but let us leave it.”
”Not at all,” continued M. Coignard. ”You ought to know that he took good care to have no intercourse with her as he was afraid of begetting a horse, on which account he would have been subject to criminal prosecution.”
”Ah!” said the barber, ”he ought rather to have been afraid to engender an a.s.s.”
”Doubtless,” said the vicar. ”But such talk does not advance us on the road to heaven. It would be useful to retake the good way. But a little while ago you spoke so edifyingly!”
Instead of giving reply, my good master began to sing, with rather a strong voice:
”Pour mettre en gout le roi Louison On a pris quinze mirlitons Landerinette Qui tous le balai ont roll Landeriri.”
”If you want to sing, my son,” said the vicar, ”you'd better sing a fine Burgundian Christmas carol. You'd rejoice your soul by it and sanctify it.”
”With pleasure,” replied my dear tutor. ”There are some by Guy Barozai which, I think, in their apparent rusticity, to be finer than diamonds and more precious than gold. This one, for example:
'Lor qu'au lai saison qu'ai jaule Au monde Jesu-chri vin L'ane et le beu l'echaufin De le leu sofle dans l'etaule.
Que d'ane et de beu je sai Dans ce royaume de Gaule, Que d'ane et de beu je sai Qui n'en a rien pas tan fai.'”
The surgeon, his wife and the vicar sang together:
”Que d'ane et de beu je sai Dans ce royaume de Gaule, Que d'ane et de beu je sai Qui n'en a rien pas tan fai.”
And my good master replied in a weaker voice:
”Mais le pu beo de l'histoire Ce fut que l'ane et le beu Ainsin pa.s.sire to deu La nuit sans manger ni boire Que d'ane et de beu je sai Couver de pane et de moire Que d'ane et de beu je sai Que n'en a rien pas tan fai!”
Then he let his head fall on the pillow and sang no more.
”There is good in this Christian,” said the vicar, ”much good, and a while ago he really edified me with his beautiful sentences. But I am not without a certain apprehension, as everything depends on the end, and n.o.body knows what's hidden at the bottom of the basket G.o.d in His kindness wills that one single moment brings us salvation, but this moment must be the last one, so that everything depends on a single minute, in comparison with which the whole life does not count. That's what makes me tremble for the patient, over whom angels and devils are furiously quarrelling. But one must never despair of divine mercy.”
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