ourselves, I believe that there are none but in the calendar.
--Oh, Veronica, Veronica.
--Yes, sir, I believe it in my soul and conscience, and I can add another
thing still. If, before they canonized all these saints, they had consulted
their servant, perhaps they would not have found a single one of them.
--What! you, the pious Veronica, you say such things?
--One is pious and staid and everything you wish, but one sees what one
sees. Monsieur Fortin was accustomed to say that no one is a great man to
his _valet de chambre_; and I add, that no one is a saint to his cook. I
tell you so.
--But that is blasphemy, Veronica.
--Blasphemy possibly, but it is the truth, Monsieur Marcel.
--Have you then surprised my predecessors in some act of culpable weakness?
--Oh, holy Virgin! I did not surprise them, it was they on the contrary who
surprised me.
--You!... And how then?
--Monsieur le Curé, you don't understand me. You were speaking of their
weakness, I meant to say that they had taken advantage of mine.
--Ah, here we are, thought Marcel. Is it possible? What! of your weakness?
these ecclesiastics?
--Sir. You are an ecclesiastic too and yet ... if Mademoiselle Suzanne
Durand....
--Don't go on, Veronica. I have asked you not to recall that remembrance to
me. It is wrong of you to forget that.
--Sweet Jesus! I don't want to offend you. I wanted to make you understand
that since you, you have erred, the others....
--And what have they done?
--Ah, it is very simple, Lord Jesus!
--Let us see.
--I hardly know if I ought to tell you that, I am quite ashamed of it.
--Come, let us see, speak ... you have nothing to be afraid of before me
... speak, Veronica, speak.
--Where must I begin?
--Where you like; at the beginning, I suppose.
--There are several of them.
--Several beginnings?
--Yes; I have had three masters, you know.
--Well, with the last one, with Monsieur Fortin, that worthy man whom I
knew slightly.
--He was no better than the rest, Jesus! no.
--The Abbé Fortin?
--Lord God, yes, the Abbé Fortin!
--What has he done then?
--My God ... you know well, that which one does when one ... is a man ...
and has a warm temperament.
--To you, Veronica, to you?
--Alas, sweet Jesus. Ah, Monsieur le Curé, I am so good-natured, I don't
know how to resist. And then, you know, it is so hard for a poor servant to
resist her master, particularly when he is a priest, who holds all your
confidence, and possesses all your secrets, and with whom you live in a
certain kind of intimacy; and besides a priest is cautious, and one may be
quite sure that nothing of what goes on inside the parsonage, will get out
through the parsonage door.
--Assuredly; he will not go and noise his faults abroad.
--And so with us, the priests' servants, who could be more cautious than we
are? We have as much in it as our masters, have we not? and a sin concealed
is a sin half pardoned.
--Yes, Veronica, it was said long ago: "The scandal of the world is what
causes the offence. And 'tis not sinning to sin in silence."
--Those are words of wisdom; who is it who said so?
--A very clever man, called Monsieur Tartuffe.
--I see that. Be must have been a priest, at least?
--He was not an ecclesiastic, but he was somewhat of a churchman.
--That is just as I thought. Certainly we must hide our faults. Who would
believe in us without that? I say _us_, for I am also somewhat a
church-_woman_.
--Undoubtedly.
--I have spent my life among ecclesiastics. My father was beadle at St.
Eprive's and my mother the Curé's housekeeper.
--That is your title.
--Is it not? Then I have the honour to be your maid-servant, and I am the
head of the association of the Holy Virgin.
--No one could contest your claims, Veronica; add to that you are a worthy
and cautious person, and let us return to Monsieur Fortin. Ah, I cannot
contain my astonishment. Monsieur Fortin!... And how did he go to work to
... seduce you? He must have used much deceit.
--All the angels of heavens are witnesses to it, sir, and you shall judge.
L.
MAMMOSA VIRGO!
"The monk could not refrain from admiring
the freshness and plumpness of
this woman. For a long time he made
his eyes speak, and he managed it so
well that in the end he inspired the
lady with the same desire with which
he was burning."
BOCCACIO (_La Décaméron_).
Veronica took several sips of the brandy which remained at the bottom of
the cup, collected her thoughts for a moment, and casting her eyes down
with a modest air, she proceeded:
--The good Monsieur Fortin, as perhaps you know, used to drink a little of
an evening.
--Oh, he used to drink!
--Yes, not every day, but every now and then; two or three times a week:
but you know ... quite nicely, properly, without making any noise; he was
gayer than usual, that was all. But when he reached that point, though he
was ordinarily as timid as a lay-brother, he became as bold as a gendarme,
and he was very ... how shall I say?... very enterprising. I may say that
between ourselves, Monsieur le Curé, you understand that strangers never
knew anything about it. If by chance anyone came and asked for him at these
times, I used to say that he had gone out, or that he was ill. One day, I
was finely put out. Christopher Gilquin's daughter came to call him to her
mother who was at the point of death. He took it into his head to try and
kiss her. The little one, who was hardly fifteen, did not know what it
meant. I made her understand that it was to console her, and through pure
affection for her and for her mamma. It passed muster. But when she had
gone I gave it to him finely, and I made him go to bed ... and sharply too.
--And he obeyed you?
--I should think so, and without a word. He saw very well he was wrong. One
evening then ... I had been in his service hardly six months--I must tell
you first that he had looked at me very queerly for some time; I let him do
so and said to myself: "Here is another of them who will do like the rest."
And I waited for it to happen. I was better-looking then than I am now: I
was ten years younger, Monsieur le Curé.
--Ten years younger! but you were thirty then. How could you be a Curé's
servant at that age? Our rules are opposed to it.
--I passed as his relation. And that was tolerated. Besides, when
Monseigneur made his visitation, I did not show myself ... for form's sake,
for Monseigneur knew very well that I was there. I met him once on the
stairs; he took hold of my chin, looked at me very hard, and said in a sly
way: "Here is this little _spiritual sister_ then; faith, she is a pretty
little rogue." I was so bashful. I asked Monsieur Fortin what a _spiritual
sister_ was, and he told me that they used formerly to call women so who
lived with priests. They say that all had two or three _spiritual sisters_.
What indecency! I should not have allowed that.
--Spiritual sister is not exactly the expression, said Marcel, it is
_adoptive sister_, because they were adopted.[1] Alas, Veronica, the clergy
were slightly dissolute in former times: it is no longer so in our days, in
which so many holy ecclesiastics give an example of the rarest virtues.
--Oh, three wives, Monsieur le Curé! three wives! sweet Jesus! they must
have torn out each other's eyes.
--No, Veronica. They agreed very well among themselves. They had different
ideas at that time to what we have now.
--One evening then Monsieur Fortin had drunk at table a little more than
usual. I was going to bring the dessert and I leaned over to take up a dish
which was before him. As the dish was heavy and rather far from my hand, I
supported myself on the back of his chair, and involuntarily I rubbed
against his body with my stomach. "Oh, oh," he said, "if that happens again
I shall pinch that big breast."
--What! Monsieur Fortin used that expression?
--Yes, sir, and many others besides. I blush when I think of it.... Then I
looked at him quite astounded. He began to laugh. I went to look for the
cheese, and I passed again beside him on purpose, and supported myself on
his chair again to place it on the table. "Ah," he cried, "she is beginning
again. _O, mammosa virgo_!"--he repeated it so many times to me that I
remember it--"so much the worse, I keep my promises." And he pinched me.
--Where?
--Where he had said. He made no error. I blushed for shame and drew back as
quickly as possible: "How can he," I said to myself, "use Latin words to
deceive poor women?" Then he cried: "Are you ticklish?"--Yes, sir. "Ah, you
are ticklish. The big Veronica is ticklish! Who would have believed it?"
And he laughed, but I saw clearly that his laugh was put on, and that
something else preoccupied him. And from that moment, each time that I
passed near him and stooped down to clear away, he tried to pinch me where
he could: "And there," he said, "are you ticklish? are you ticklish there?"
I was so stupefied that I could not get over it. "It is a little too much,
Holy Mother of God," I said to myself, "a man like him! to pinch me in this
way! who would believe it! One would not credit it, if one saw it! Ah, I
will see how far he will go, and to-morrow I will give him an account." At
last, when I saw that he would not stop it, and that he was going too far,
I said to him severely: Monsieur le Curé, if you continue to tease me in
this way, you shall see something.
--What shall I see? he said getting up suddenly, I want to see it directly.
Ah, _mammosa virgo_! you threaten your master! Wait, wait, I will teach you
respect.
And, pretending to punish me, he caught hold of as much as he could grasp
with both hands; yes, sir, as much as he could. Ah, I was very angry, God
can tell you so.
--And did he stop?
--Not at all, sir; quite the contrary. I escaped from his hands, and I
turned round the table saying: "Ah, sweet Jesus, what is going to happen?
Divine Saviour! How far will he dare to go?" To complete the misfortune, I
let the lamp fall, and it went out. Then he put himself into a great
passion, and soon caught me. "You have upset the oil," he cried. "I will
teach you to spill the oil." He held me with all his might. Then I got
angry in earnest, in earnest, you know.
--Well?
--Well, that was useless. I was taken like a poor fly. It was too late. It
was all over.
--All over!
--All over. Monsieur Fortin let me go then. Ah! sir, if you knew how
ashamed I was.
[Footnote 1: They are still called _sisters agapetae_ or _subintroduced_
women. Perhaps it is not unnecessary to recall the fact that Gregory VII
was the first of the popes to impose celibacy on the clergy. He nullified
acts performed by married priests and compelled them to choose between
their wives and the priesthood. In spite of this, and in spite of
excommunication with which he threatened them, many kept their wives
secretly, the rest contented themselves with concubines. Besides, the
majority of the bishops, who lived after the same manner, tolerated for
bribes infractions of the rule by the lower and higher clergy. The Council
of Paris, in 1212, forbade them to receive money, proceeding from this
source. At the present time, however, the Catholic priests of the
Greeks-United, those of Libar and different Oriental communions, all under
papal authority, not only may, but must take wives.
St. Paul said: "Choose for priest him who shall have but one wife." Would
he find many of them at the present time?]
LI.
CHAMBER MORALITY.
"Practise moderation and prudence
with regard to certain virtues which
may ruin the health of the body."
THE REV. FATHER LAURENT SCUPOLI (_Le Combat Spirituel_).
--What a strange story, said Marcel. Oh, Veronica. But did you not make
more resistance?
--Resistance! I was lame from it for more than a fortnight. I walked like a
duck. People said to me: "What is the matter with you, Mademoiselle
Veronica? They say you have broken something!" Ah, if they had suspected
what it was.
--What a scandal! Monsieur Fortin!
--He was stronger than I; but I don't give him all the blame. We must be
just. It was my fault too. That is what comes of playing with fire.
--But it seems to me, Veronica, that you displayed a little willingness.
--Ah, Monsieur le Curé, you are scolding me for telling you all this so
plainly. Was it not better for me to act thus, than to let Monsieur Fortin
run right and left and expose himself to all sorts of affronts, as some do?
That man had a temperament of fire. And that temperament must have expended
itself on someone. The business about little Gilquin made me reflect. I
sacrificed myself, and I acted as much in his interests as in the interests
of religion.
--And does not temperament speak in you also, Veronica?
--Ah, that is only told in confession.
--Nevertheless it is fine to rule your passions, to be chaste.
--Ah, yes, as you were saying once when I came in: "Chaste without hope."
All that is rubbish. God has well done all that he has done; I can't get
away from that.
--How can you bring the holy name of God into these abominable things?
--Abominable! that is rubbish again. Monsieur Fortin and I often asked
ourselves what evil that could do to God, when neither of us did any to
other people. Monsieur Fortin used to say to me: "Are we doing evil to our
neighbours, Veronica?" "Not that I know of, Monsieur le Curé." "Are we
causing a scandal?" "Ah, Jesus, no, Monsieur le Curé." "Are we setting a
bad example?" "No, Monsieur le Curé, no." "Are we populating the land with
orphans?" "Oh, as to that, no." "Well then, in what way can we be offending
God?" That was very well said all the same, the more so as his health
depended on it.
--But, replied Marcel, wishing to change the conversation which was verging
upon dangerous ground, have you not told me that you have been in the
service of ecclesiastics for nearly five-and-twenty years. That appears to
me to be very extraordinary for, after all, you are hardly forty.
--Thirty-nine, corrected Veronica, who was past forty-five.
--Reason the more.
--That is true, Monsieur le Curé, but I began early. At fifteen I went to
the Abbé Braqueminet's.
--I was acquainted with a Braqueminet, who was Bishop _in partibus_. A very
worthy prelate.
--That he is, sir; he went to America.
--Come! this is too much, Veronica; you want to make a fool of me. At
fifteen, do you say, that is too much! At thirty you were with the Abbé
Fortin. I have no objection to that, since you passed as his relation,
although with regard to this, our rules are precise, and we cannot take a
housekeeper, till she is over a certain age. Sometimes, it is true, they
smuggle in a few years: but fifteen years!
--It is the exact truth, however, sir. I was fifteen years old, and no more
at the Abbé Braqueminet's, and you will believe me, when I tell you that I
was his niece.
-Monseigneur Braqueminet's niece! you, Veronica?
-Yes, sir, his niece; the Holy Virgin who hears me, will tell you that I
was his niece, and I will explain to you how.
LII.
THE POSSET.
"This little maid, so fair, with teasing ways,
Was made to be a lovely man's support.
For many a foolish thing in former days
He did to gain a face less fair than thine."
BÉRANGER (_la Célibataire_).
My father, as I have told you, was beadle at Saint Eprive's, and my mother
was servant to Monsieur le Curé. These were two good situations, but they
had a number of children, and not much time to attend to them. Therefore
when I was thirteen, they entrusted me to an old aunt who was willing to
take charge of me. She was servant to Monsieur Braqueminet, who was then at
Mirecourt. She placed me at first with a lady who made me look after her
little children. At the end of a year Monsieur l'Abbé had a change, and
went away to a village near Saint-Dié. He said to my aunt: "You cannot
leave Veronica alone at Mirecourt; she will soon be fifteen; she is tall
and nice-looking; she will run too much risk, and we must take her with us;
but as it would make these foolish peasants chatter if their Curé had a
strange young girl in the house, she shall pass as my niece. What do you
say to this proposal?" My aunt was delighted and agreed to it directly, and
all the more because I would have to assist her in the household work, and
that her labour would thus be lightened. They took me away from my
situation, they taught me my lesson, and I went away with them, very
pleased to be Monsieur le Curé's niece. Ah! that was the best time of my
life. My aunt spoilt me, Monsieur le Curé was excessively fond of me, I had
all my wishes. All the ladies in the neighbourhood spoke to me civilly, the
Collector's wife, the lawyer's wife, the Mayoress, the wife of the
exciseman, they all, in short, made much of me. Mademoiselle Veronica here!
Mademoiselle Veronica there! I had my place in the gallery. They invited me
to dinner and they were rivals as to who should make me little presents, as
if I were really his true niece; everybody believed it, and my aunt
herself, by dint of hearing it said, ended by believing it herself, for she
never called me anything else than Mademoiselle Veronica.
Unfortunately after some time my aunt died. When we had both of us wept
copiously for her, Monsieur le Curé said to me: "Now your aunt is dead,
Veronica, what are you going to do?" I made no answer and burst again into
tears. "You must not cry like that, little one, you will spoil your pretty
eyes; will you remain with me? will you continue to be my niece?" That was
my dream; I asked for nothing more. I thanked Monsieur Braqueminet with all
my soul, and told him that as he wanted me to be his niece, I would remain
his niece all my life.--"That is agreed," he said to me, "you shall keep my
little house for me, and I will take another maid-servant for the heavy
work only." For he was so nice to me that he would not allow me to fatigue
myself in anything. Ah, the men, Monsieur le Curé, who can trust the men!
See what he has made of me after all his fine promises: a poor servant,
nothing more.
--Had he then any reason to complain of you?
--To complain of me! ah, sweet Paschal Lamb! Never has he said a word of
reproach. But since I am in the mood to tell you everything, I may as well
do so at once. It was he who had my innocence.
--What! it was not the Abbé Fortin then?
-No, Monsieur le Curé, it was the Abbé Braqueminet.
--And how did he go to work to have your innocence?
--Ah, he was a very clever man. First he knew how to inspire affection, he
was so kind to me. It was I who managed everything. I was mistress of all,
although so young, and, pray believe me, everything proceeded well. But ...
one fine day a real niece turned up, no one knows whence ... and, faith, I
was obliged to retire. I might have made an exposure, but I preferred to
sacrifice myself.
--Was she younger than you then?
--The same age, sir, but she was fresh fruit. She appeared so innocent that
one would have given her the sacrament without confession. Monsieur
Braqueminet, he undertook to give her the Sacrament.... Yes, he undertook
it, that man!...
--But was she really his niece?
--Yes, sir, his own sister's daughter. I have had proofs of it; do you
think I should have gone away, without that? This sister hated me, and I
thoroughly returned it; but when I saw her daughter arrive, I said to
myself: I am well revenged.
--But your innocence.... how did he have it?
--Ah, you are anxious to know that. I must tell you everything then!
everything! this is how it happened. He suffered a little from his chest,
and every evening my aunt used to carry him up a posset. When my aunt was
dead, I was obliged to take her place, for the servant we had taken was
married, and went home at the end of the day. He knew very well what he was
doing, and I, poor little lamb of God, believed everything. I was like a
new-born child. It is not right to be so silly as that. God has punished me
for it: it is quite right. I don't complain at it. So I used to take him up
his posset every evening. Then he used to kiss me and squeeze me to his
heart, calling me his dear niece, and charging me to be good:
--You will always be good? he used to say to me.
--Yes, uncle.
--Always! you promise me.
--Yes, uncle.
--Ah, let me kiss you for that kind promise. I found that he kissed me for
rather a long time and although it was very pleasant to me, still it used
to give me reason for reflection: "How can he love me so much, I thought,
when he is not my uncle?"
You can judge by that if I was not silly. But it is perfectly conceivable,
for I had never been to school, so who was there then to teach me
naughtiness. A young girl's brain is active, and I formed a thousand
fancies of every kind. "Perhaps he has some interest concealed underneath,"
I said artlessly to myself, "and perhaps he does not love me as he wishes
me to believe." I was hardly fifteen, and you see I was quite candid and
simple. I thought I would pretend to be ill, in order to make a trial of
him, and see if he would be grieved and if he would come and nurse me. So
one evening, when he had finished supper, I told him that I was not well,
and that I was going to bed. He was reading his newspaper and did not
appear to hear me. At least he made no reply. I went away very sadly and
sorrowfully, thinking that his affection for me was not very great, as he
did not give the least attention to my complaints. In short, I went to bed.
"He will go to bed too very soon," I said to myself, "he will call for his
posset and he will be obliged to get up to see why I do not bring it to
him."
Indeed, about an hour after, I heard his bell. I wrapped myself up in the
sheets and pretended to be asleep. He rang a second time. "Veronica,
Veronica," he cried, "my posset; what are you doing then? Have you
forgotten it? Veronica!"
I turned a deaf ear.
LIII.
THE LEG.
"One is compelled sometimes to say to oneself,
'On what does ruin or safety depend?'"
J. TOURGUENEFF (_Les eaux printanières_).
Then I heard him come upstairs cautiously and stop at the door of my room.
All at once he opened it. He remained standing still for a moment, then he
came near my bed on tip-toe.
I half-opened my eyes quickly, and the first thing I saw was his naked
legs--my word, he had a very well-made leg! I looked again and saw that he
was covered with an old black cloak which served him as a dressing-gown.
I closed my eyes again quickly, and, without giving an account of my
feelings, I was overcome by a strong emotion.
My uncle passed his hand over my forehead. He found it burning, for he
cried out directly: "But she is really ill, she is really ill, poor child."
Then leaning over me: "Little one, little one, where are you in pain?"
I pretended to wake up with a start, and I stared wildly at him, as if I
was much surprised to see him there. We women have the instinct of deceit
from birth; believe me, what I tell you is true, Monsieur le Curé.
--It is possible, Veronica.
--Well, then be said to me, "Where are you in pain, little one?" I put my
finger on the pit of my stomach, and replied in a feeble voice "Here."
He put his hand there, and I saw that he moved it about with complacency on
that part.
This touch seemed to make him beside himself, "Oh, the pretty little girl,
the pretty little girl!" he said, "she is ill, poor dear child." And his
hand continued to caress me.
You may think how I was trembling. Although he did it very decently, I said
to myself that it was not altogether proper, but I took good care not to
utter a word. A girl is inquisitive, you know, and I was not displeased to
see what he would come to.
"Will you have a fomentation?" he said to me after a moment. "No, uncle," I
answered, "I feel I am getting better, it is not worth while; I am even
going to get up to make you your posset." "To get up, do you dream of
it?... All the same, perhaps you are right, there is still some fire in my
room: will you come there? you will warm yourself better than in your bed."
"I will, if it does not disturb you." "Disturb me! no, no, don't be afraid
of disturbing me; come, put on a dress and come."
I sat up in bed, thinking that he would go out of the room to let me dress,
but he remained standing in front of me, and his looks frightened me.
I remained sitting on the bed, without stirring. "Well, well, little girl,
you are not getting up?"
"I dare not get up before you, uncle." "Are you silly? What are you afraid
of? Are you not my niece? Come, come, out of bed, little stupid." He said
that in a gentle insinuating voice, and I dared not hesitate any more. I
put one leg out of bed. He followed my movements with the greatest
attention; "Well, well, and that other leg?"
I put out the other leg, blushing all over with shame, and I wanted to take
my petticoat.