Part 25

It is understandable that nothing, in the state he was in, could be more disagreeable to Bazin than the arrival of d'Artagnan, which might throw his master back into the whirlwind of worldly ideas that had so long carried him away. He resolved, therefore, to bravely defend the door; and since, betrayed by the innkeeper's wife, he could not say that Aramis was absent, he tried to prove to the newcomer that it would be the height of indiscretion to disturb his master in the pious conference he had begun that morning, and which, according to Bazin, could not be finished before evening.

But d'Artagnan paid no attention to Master Bazin's eloquent speech, and since he had no desire to start a polemic with his friend's valet, he simply pushed him aside with one hand, and with the other turned the knob of door number 5.

The door opened, and d'Artagnan entered the room.

Aramis, in a black surtout, his head adorned with a sort of round, flat headdress that looked not unlike a skullcap, was seated before an oblong table covered with rolls of paper and enormous folio volumes; on his right sat the Jesuit superior, and on his left the curé of Montdidier. The curtains were half-drawn and let in only a mysterious light, arranged for blissful reverie. All the worldly objects that might strike the eye upon entering a young man's room, especially when that young man is a musketeer, had disappeared as if by magic; and, no doubt for fear that their sight might lead his master back to the ideas of this world, Bazin had laid hands on the sword, the pistols, the plumed hat, the embroidery, and the lace of every kind and description.

But, in their place, d'Artagnan thought he glimpsed in a dark corner a sort of discipline hanging from a nail on the wall.

At the sound d'Artagnan made in opening the door, Aramis raised his head and recognized his friend. But, to the young man's great astonishment, his sight did not seem to make much impression on the musketeer, so detached was his mind from earthly things.

"Good day, dear d'Artagnan," said Aramis; "believe that I am happy to see you."

"And I too," said d'Artagnan, "although I am not yet quite sure that it is Aramis I am speaking to."

"To him himself, my friend, to him himself; but what could have made you doubt?"

"I was afraid I had mistaken the room, and at first I thought I had entered the apartment of some churchman; then another mistake seized me upon finding you in the company of these gentlemen: that you were gravely ill."

The two black-robed men cast an almost threatening glance at d'Artagnan, whose intention they understood; but d'Artagnan did not trouble himself about it.

"I am perhaps disturbing you, my dear Aramis," continued d'Artagnan; "for, from what I see, I am inclined to believe that you are confessing to these gentlemen."

Aramis reddened imperceptibly.

"You, disturbing me? Oh! quite the contrary, dear friend, I swear to you; and as proof of what I say, allow me to rejoice at seeing you safe and sound."

"Ah! he's getting there at last!" thought d'Artagnan; "not before time."

"For this gentleman, who is my friend, has just escaped a great danger," continued Aramis with unction, pointing to d'Artagnan with his hand for the two ecclesiastics.

"Praise God, monsieur," they replied, bowing in unison.

"I have not failed to do so, my reverends," answered the young man, returning their bow in his turn.

"You arrive at the right moment, dear d'Artagnan," said Aramis, "and you will, by taking part in the discussion, illuminate it with your wisdom. Monsieur the principal of Amiens, Monsieur the curé of Montdidier, and I are arguing over certain theological questions whose interest has captivated us for a long time; I would be delighted to have your opinion."

"The opinion of a man of the sword carries little weight," answered d'Artagnan, who was beginning to worry about the turn things were taking, "and you can trust, believe me, to the learning of these gentlemen."

The two black-robed men bowed in turn.

"On the contrary," replied Aramis, "and your opinion will be valuable to us; here is what it is about: Monsieur the principal believes that my thesis should be especially dogmatic and didactic."

"Your thesis! So you are doing a thesis?"

"Without a doubt," replied the Jesuit; "for the examination that precedes ordination, a thesis is a requirement."

"Ordination!" cried d'Artagnan, who could not believe what the innkeeper's wife and Bazin had successively told him, "... ordination!"

And he ran his astonished eyes over the three persons before him.

"Now," continued Aramis, taking on his armchair the same graceful pose as if he were in a boudoir and complacently examining his white and plump hand like a woman's hand, which he held in the air to let the blood flow down, "now, as you have heard, d'Artagnan, Monsieur the principal would like my thesis to be dogmatic, while I, for my part, would like it to be ideal. That is why Monsieur the principal proposed to me this subject, which has not yet been treated, in which I recognize there is material for magnificent developments.

_‘Utraque manus in benedicendo clericis inferioribus necessaria est.’"_

D'Artagnan, whose erudition we know, did not blink any more at this quotation than at that which M. de Tréville had made him about the presents he claimed d'Artagnan had received from M. de Buckingham.

"Which means," resumed Aramis, to give him every facility, "'Both hands are indispensable to priests of the lower orders when they give the blessing.'"

"Admirable subject!" cried the Jesuit.

"Admirable and dogmatic!" repeated the curé, who, being about on a par with d'Artagnan in Latin, was carefully watching the Jesuit to follow his lead and repeat his words like an echo.

As for d'Artagnan, he remained perfectly indifferent to the enthusiasm of the two black-robed men.

"Yes, admirable! _prorsus admirabile_!" continued Aramis, "but which requires a profound study of the Fathers and the Scriptures. Now I have confessed to these learned ecclesiastics, and in all humility, that the vigils in the guardroom and the king's service have made me somewhat neglect my studies. I will therefore find myself more at ease, _facilius natans_, in a subject of my own choosing, which would be to these harsh theological questions what morality is to metaphysics in philosophy."

D'Artagnan was profoundly bored; the curé was too.

"See what an exordium!" cried the Jesuit.

"_Exordium_," repeated the curé, to say something.

"_Quemadmodum inter cœlorum immensitatem._"

Aramis cast a sidelong glance at d'Artagnan, and saw that his friend was yawning so hard he would dislocate his jaw.

"Let us speak French, my father," he said to the Jesuit, "M. d'Artagnan will appreciate our words more keenly."

"Yes, I am tired from the journey," said d'Artagnan, "and all this Latin escapes me."

"Agreed," said the Jesuit, a little piqued, while the curé, transported with joy, turned a look full of gratitude on d'Artagnan; "well, see what can be made of this gloss.

"Moses, servant of God—he is only a servant, do you understand well!—Moses blesses with his hands; he has his two arms held up while the Hebrews defeat their enemies; therefore he blesses with both hands. Moreover, what does the Gospel say: _imponite manus_, and not _manum_. 'Lay on hands,' and not 'the hand.'

"'Lay on hands,'" repeated the curé, making a gesture.

"Saint Peter, on the contrary, from whom the popes are descended," continued the Jesuit, "_Porrige digitos_. 'Present your fingers.' Are you with me now?"

"Certainly," replied Aramis, delighting in it, "but the thing is subtle."

"The fingers!" resumed the Jesuit; "Saint Peter blesses with his fingers. The pope therefore also blesses with his fingers. And with how many fingers does he bless? With three fingers: one for the Father, one for the Son, and one for the Holy Spirit."

Everyone crossed themselves; d'Artagnan thought he ought to follow this example.

"The pope is the successor of Saint Peter and represents the three divine powers; the rest, _ordines inferiores_ of the ecclesiastical hierarchy, bless by the name of the holy archangels and angels. The humblest clerics, such as our deacons and sacristans, bless with holy water sprinklers, which simulate an indefinite number of blessing fingers. There is the subject simplified, _Argumentum omni denudatum ornamento_. With that," continued the Jesuit, "I could make two volumes the size of this one."

And, in his enthusiasm, he struck the folio volume of Saint Chrysostom, which made the table bend under its weight.

D'Artagnan shuddered.

"Certainly," said Aramis, "I do justice to the beauties of this thesis, but at the same time I recognize it as overwhelming for me. I had chosen this text; tell me, dear d'Artagnan, if it is not to your taste: _Non inutile est desiderium in oblatione_, or even better: 'A little regret is not unbecoming in an offering to the Lord.'"

"Stop there!" cried the Jesuit, "for this thesis borders on heresy; there is an almost similar proposition in the _Augustinus_ of the heresiarch Jansenius, whose book will sooner or later be burned by the executioner's hand. Take care, my young friend! You are leaning toward false doctrines, my young friend; you will ruin yourself!"

"You will ruin yourself," said the curé, shaking his head sorrowfully.

"You are touching upon that famous point of free will, which is a mortal reef. You are directly confronting the insinuations of the Pelagians and semi-Pelagians."

"But, my reverend…," resumed Aramis, somewhat taken aback by the hail of arguments falling upon his head.

"How will you prove," continued the Jesuit, without giving him time to speak, "that one should regret the world when one offers oneself to God? Listen to this dilemma: God is God, and the world is the devil. To regret the world is to regret the devil: that is my conclusion."

"That is mine too," said the curé.

"But for heaven's sake!…" said Aramis.

"_Desideras diabolum_, unhappy man!" cried the Jesuit.

"He regrets the devil! Ah! my young friend," resumed the curé, groaning, "do not regret the devil, I beseech you."

D'Artagnan was turning idiotic; it seemed to him that he was in a madhouse, and that he was going to become as mad as those he saw. Only he was forced to remain silent, not understanding the language being spoken before him.

"But listen to me, then," resumed Aramis, with a politeness through which a little impatience was beginning to show, "I do not say that I regret; no, I will never utter that phrase, which would not be orthodox…"

The Jesuit raised his arms to heaven, and the curé did likewise.

"No, but at least admit that it is in poor grace to offer to the Lord only that of which one is perfectly disgusted. Am I right, d'Artagnan?"

"I think so, by God!" cried the latter.

The curé and the Jesuit jumped in their chairs.

"Here is my starting point, a syllogism: the world is not lacking in attractions; I leave the world, therefore I make a sacrifice; now Scripture says positively: 'Make a sacrifice to the Lord.'"

"That is true," said the antagonists.

"And then," continued Aramis, pinching his ear to make it red, as he shook his hands to make them white, "and then I composed a certain rondeau on this subject, which I communicated to M. Voiture last year, and for which that great man paid me a thousand compliments."

"A rondeau!" said the Jesuit disdainfully.

"A rondeau!" said the curé mechanically.

"Recite it, recite it," cried d'Artagnan, "that will change things up a bit."

"No, for it is religious," answered Aramis, "and it is theology in verse."

"The devil!" said d'Artagnan.

"Here it is," said Aramis, with a modest air that was not without a certain tinge of hypocrisy:

"You who weep for a past full of charms, And who drag out unfortunate days, All your sorrows will see their end, When to God alone you offer your tears, You who weep."

D'Artagnan and the curé seemed flattered. The Jesuit persisted in his opinion.

"Beware of profane taste in theological style. For what does Saint Augustine say? _'Severus sit clericorum sermo._'"

"Yes, let the sermon be clear!" said the curé.

"Now," hastened to interrupt the Jesuit, seeing that his acolyte was going astray, "now your thesis will please the ladies, that is all; it will have the success of a pleading by Master Patru."

"May it please God!" cried Aramis, transported.

"You see," cried the Jesuit, "the world still speaks loudly in you, _altissima voce_. You follow the world, my young friend, and I tremble that grace is not effective."

"Reassure yourself, my reverend, I answer for myself."

"Worldly presumption!"

"I know myself, my father, my resolution is irrevocable."

"Then you persist in pursuing this thesis?"

"I feel called to treat that one, and not another; I will therefore continue it, and tomorrow I hope you will be satisfied with the corrections I will have made according to your advice."

"Work slowly," said the curé, "we leave you in excellent dispositions."

"Yes, the ground is all sown," said the Jesuit, "and we need not fear that part of the grain has fallen on stone, another along the path, and that the birds of the air have eaten the rest, _aves cœli comederunt illam_."

"May the plague choke you with your Latin!" said d'Artagnan, who felt himself at the end of his strength.

"Farewell, my son," said the curé, "until tomorrow."

"Until tomorrow, young temerarian," said the Jesuit; "you promise to be one of the lights of the Church; may Heaven grant that this light be not a devouring fire."

D'Artagnan, who for an hour had been gnawing his nails with impatience, was beginning to attack the flesh.

The two black-robed men rose, bowed to Aramis and d'Artagnan, and moved toward the door. Bazin, who had been standing and had listened to this whole controversy with pious jubilation, rushed toward them, took the curé's breviary and the Jesuit's missal, and walked respectfully before them to clear their path.

Aramis accompanied them to the bottom of the stairs and immediately came back up to d'Artagnan, who was still dreaming.

Left alone, the two friends at first maintained an embarrassed silence; however, one of them had to break it first, and since d'Artagnan seemed determined to leave this honor to his friend:

"You see," said Aramis, "you find me returned to my fundamental ideas."

"Yes, effective grace has touched you, as that gentleman said just now."

"Oh! these plans for retirement have been formed for a long time; and you have already heard me speak of them, haven't you, my friend?"

"Doubtless, but I confess I thought you were joking."

"With such things! Oh! d'Artagnan!"

"Well, a man can joke about death."

"And he is wrong, d'Artagnan: for death is the door that leads to perdition or salvation."

"Agreed; but, if you please, let us not theologize, Aramis; you must have had enough of it for the rest of the day: as for me, I have almost forgotten the little Latin that I never knew; besides, I confess to you, I have not eaten anything since ten o'clock this morning, and I am as hungry as the devil."

"We will dine soon, dear friend; only, you will remember that today is Friday; now, on such a day, I can neither see nor eat meat. If you will be content with my dinner, it consists of boiled tetragons and fruit."

"What do you mean by tetragons?" asked d'Artagnan uneasily.

"I mean spinach," replied Aramis, "but for you I will add eggs, and that is a serious breach of the rule, for eggs are meat, since they produce the chicken."

"This feast is not succulent, but no matter; to stay with you, I will endure it."

"I am grateful for the sacrifice," said Aramis; "but if it does not profit your body, it will profit, be assured, your soul."

"So, definitively, Aramis, you are entering the Church? What will our friends say, what will M. de Tréville say? They will call you a deserter, I warn you."

"I am not entering the Church, I am re-entering it. It is the Church I deserted for the world, for you know that I did violence to myself to take up the musketeer's coat."

"I, I know nothing about that."

"You do not know how I left the seminary?"

"Not at all."

"Here is my story; besides, the Scriptures say: 'Confess yourselves one to another,' and I confess to you, d'Artagnan."

"And I, I give you absolution in advance, you see I am a good fellow."

"Do not joke about holy things, my friend."

"Then speak, I am listening."

"I was in the seminary from the age of nine, I was twenty in three days, I was about to become an abbot, and everything was settled. One evening when I was going, according to my habit, to a house I frequented with pleasure—one is young, what would you have! one is weak—an officer who saw me with a jealous eye reading the lives of the saints to the lady of the house suddenly entered without being announced. Just that evening, I had translated an episode from Judith, and I had just communicated my verses to the lady, who was paying me all sorts of compliments, and, leaning over my shoulder, was re-reading them with me. The pose, which was somewhat abandoned, I admit, offended this officer; he said nothing, but when I left, he left behind me, and, catching up with me:

"'Monsieur the abbot,' he said, 'do you like blows from a cane?'

"'I cannot say, monsieur,' I replied, 'no one having ever dared to give me any.'

"'Well, listen to me, Monsieur the abbot, if you return to the house where I met you this evening, I, for my part, will dare to do so.'

"I think I was afraid, I became very pale, I felt my legs giving way, I searched for an answer and found none, I was silent.

"The officer waited for this answer, and seeing that it was slow in coming, he began to laugh, turned his back on me, and went back into the house. I returned to the seminary.

"I am a good gentleman and I have hot blood, as you may have noticed, my dear d'Artagnan; the insult was terrible, and, though it remained unknown to the world, I felt it living and stirring at the bottom of my heart. I declared to my superiors that I did not feel sufficiently prepared for ordination, and, at my request, the ceremony was postponed for a year.

"I went to find the best fencing master in Paris, I made an arrangement with him to take a fencing lesson every day, and every day, for a year, I took that lesson. Then, on the anniversary of the day I had been insulted, I hung my cassock on a nail, put on a complete gentleman's costume, and went to a ball given by a lady friend of mine, where I knew my man would be. It was in the Rue des Francs-Bourgeois, very near the Force.

"Indeed, my officer was there; I approached him as he was singing a love lay while tenderly looking at a woman, and I interrupted him in the middle of the second couplet.

"'Monsieur,' I said to him, 'are you still displeased that I should return to a certain house in the Rue Payenne, and will you still give me blows from a cane, if I take it into my head to disobey you?'

"The officer looked at me with astonishment, then said:

"'What do you want with me, monsieur? I do not know you.'

"'I am,' I replied, 'the little abbot who reads the lives of the saints and who translates Judith into verse.'

"'Ah! ah! I remember,' said the officer mockingly; 'what do you want with me?'

"'I would like you to have the leisure to come and take a turn with me.'

"'Tomorrow morning, if you like, and it will be with the greatest pleasure.'

"'No, not tomorrow morning, if you please, right now.'

"'If you absolutely insist…'

"'But yes, I insist.'

"'Then let us go out. Ladies,' said the officer, 'do not disturb yourselves. Just time to kill this gentleman, and I will come back to finish the last couplet for you.'

"We went out.

"I led him to the Rue Payenne, exactly to the spot where a year earlier, hour for hour, he had paid me the compliment that I have related to you. There was a superb moon. We drew our swords, and at the first pass, I killed him stone dead."

"The devil!" said d'Artagnan.

"Now," continued Aramis, "as the ladies did not see their singer return, and as he was found in the Rue Payenne with a great sword thrust through his body, they thought it was I who had disposed of him thus, and the thing caused a scandal. I was therefore forced to give up the cassock for a time. Athos, whom I met at that time, and Porthos, who, apart from my fencing lessons, had taught me a few lively thrusts, persuaded me to apply for a musketeer's coat. The king had greatly loved my father, who was killed at the siege of Arras, and they granted me the coat. You understand, therefore, that today the time has come for me to return to the bosom of the Church."

"And why today rather than yesterday or tomorrow? What has happened to you today, then, that gives you such evil thoughts?"

"This wound, my dear d'Artagnan, has been a warning from Heaven."

"This wound? Bah! it is almost healed, and I am sure that today it is not that one which makes you suffer most."

"And which one?" asked Aramis, blushing.

"You have one in your heart, Aramis, a more lively and more bloody one, a wound made by a woman."

Aramis's eye sparkled in spite of himself.

"Ah!" he said, hiding his emotion under a feigned negligence, "do not speak of such things; I, think of such things! have love sorrows? _Vanitas vanitatum_! Would I, in your opinion, have turned my brain, and for whom? for some grisette, for some chambermaid, to whom I would have paid court in some garrison? Fie!"

"Pardon, my dear Aramis, but I thought you aimed higher."

"Higher? And what am I to have so much ambition? a poor musketeer, very poor and very obscure, who hates servitude and finds himself greatly out of place in the world!"

"Aramis, Aramis!" cried d'Artagnan, looking at his friend with a doubtful air.

"Dust, I return to dust. Life is full of humiliations and sorrows," he continued, darkening; "all the threads that attach it to happiness break one by one in man's hand, especially the golden threads. O my dear d'Artagnan!" resumed Aramis, giving his voice a slight tinge of bitterness, "believe me, hide your wounds well when you have them. Silence is the last joy of the unhappy; beware of putting anyone on the track of your sorrows; the curious drink our tears as flies do the blood of a wounded deer."

"Alas, my dear Aramis," said d'Artagnan, also heaving a deep sigh, "it is my own story you are telling me there."

"How so?"

"Yes, a woman I loved, I adored, has just been taken from me by force. I do not know where she is, where she has been taken; she is perhaps a prisoner, she is perhaps dead."

"But you have at least the consolation of telling yourself that she did not leave you voluntarily; that if you have no news of her, it is because all communication with you is forbidden her, whereas…"

"Whereas…"

"Nothing," resumed Aramis, "nothing."

“Stories of the world, in your language.”