Part 47 (1/2)
The conviction that no trickery was possible to him at Paris brought him to the ground. He wandered from cell to chapel, from chapel to woods, awaiting the dinner hour with impatience, in order to be able to speak to someone, for in his disorder a new need arose. For more than a week he had spent the whole afternoon without opening his lips; he did not suffer from it, was even satisfied with his silence, but since he was pressed by this idea of departure he could not keep silence any longer, thought aloud in the walks to a.s.suage the sensations of his swelling heart, that stifled him.
M. Bruno was too sagacious not to guess the uneasiness of his companion, who became by turns taciturn and over talkative during the meal. He made, however, as though he saw nothing, but after he had said grace he disappeared, and Durtal, who was strolling near the great pond, was surprised to see him coming in his direction with Father Etienne.
They greeted him, and the Trappist with a smile proposed to him, if he had made no other plan, to pa.s.s his time in visiting the convent, and especially the library, which the Father prior would be delighted to show him.
”If convenient to me! I shall be delighted!” cried Durtal.
All three returned towards the abbey; the monk lifted the latch of a little door fas.h.i.+oned in a wall near the church, and Durtal entered a minute cemetery, planted with wooden crosses on gra.s.s graves.
There was no inscription, no flower in this enclosure which they traversed; the monk pushed another door, which opened on a long corridor smelling of rats. At the end of this gallery, Durtal recognized the staircase he had ascended one morning for his confession in the prior's room. They left it on their right, turned into another gallery, and the guest-master led them into an immense hall, pierced by high windows, decorated with eighteenth century pier-gla.s.ses, and _grisailles_; it was furnished only with benches and stalls, above which was a single chair sculptured and painted with abbatial arms, which marked the place of Dom Anselm.
”Oh! this chapter-house has nothing monastic,” said Father Etienne, designating the profane pictures on the walls; ”we have kept just as it was the drawing-room of this old chateau, but I beg you to believe that this decoration hardly pleases us.”
”And what takes place in this hall?”
”Well, we meet here after ma.s.s; the chapter opens by reading the martyrology, followed by the concluding prayers of Prime. Then we read a pa.s.sage from the rule, and the Father abbot comments on it. Lastly, we practise the exercise of humility, that is to say, that whoever among us has committed any fault against the rule, prostrates himself, and avows it before his brethren.”
They went thence to the refectory. This room had also a high ceiling, but was smaller, and garnished with tables in form of a horse-shoe. A kind of large cruets, each containing two half-bottles of wine and water, separated by a water bottle, and before them, instead of gla.s.ses, cups of brown earthenware, with two handles, were placed at equal distances. The monk explained that these sham cruets with three branches indicated the place of two covers, each monk having a right to his half bottle of drink, and partaking with his neighbour the water in the bottle.
”This pulpit,” said Father Etienne, pointing out a large wooden box fixed against the wall, ”is destined for the reader of the week, the father who reads during the meal.”
”How long does the meal last?”
”Just half an hour.”
”Yes; and the cookery which we eat is delicate in comparison with that which is served to the monks,” said the oblate.
”I should lie if I were to affirm that we make good cheer,” answered the guest-master. ”Do you know that the hardest thing to bear, in the earlier time especially, is the want of seasoning in our dishes. Pepper and spices are forbidden by our rule, and as no salt-cellar has place on our table, we swallow our food just as it is, and it is for the most part scarcely salted.
”On certain days in summer, when one sweats in big drops, this becomes almost impossible, the gorge rises. Yet one must begin upon this warm paste, and at least swallow a sufficient quant.i.ty not to give out before the next day; we look at each other discouraged, unable to get any further; there is not another word to define our dinner in the month of August, it is a punishment.”
”And all, the Father abbot, the prior, the fathers, the brethren, have the same food?”
”All. Now come and see the dormitory.”
They ascended to the first floor. An immense corridor, furnished like a stable with wooden boxes, extended before them, closed at each end by a door.
”This is our lodging,” said the monk, as he stopped before one of these cases. Cards were placed on them, affixing the name of each monk, and the first bore a ticket with this inscription: ”The Father Abbot.”
Durtal felt the bed against one of the two walls.
It was as rough as a carding comb, and as biting as a file. It was composed of a simple quilted pailla.s.se extended on a plank; no sheets, but a prison coverlet of grey wool, a sack of straw instead of pillows.
”G.o.d! it is very hard,” said Durtal, and the monk laughed.
”Our habits soften the roughness of this straw mattress,” he said; ”for our rule does not allow us to undress, we may only take off our shoes, therefore we sleep entirely clad, our head wrapped in our hood.”
”And it must be cold in this corridor swept by all the winds,” added Durtal.
”No doubt the winter is rough here, but it is not that season which alarms us; we live pretty well, even without fire in time of frost, but the summer--! If you knew what it is to wake in habits still steeped in sweat, not dried since the evening before, it is terrible!