From this scene he had learned an alarming lesson: that the flesh
domineers the soul and refuses to admit any schism. The flesh decisively
does not intend that one shall get along without it and indulge in
out-of-the-world pleasures which it can partake only on condition that
it keep quiet. For the first time, reviewing these turpitudes, he really
understood the meaning of that now obsolete word _chastity_, and he
savoured it in all its pristine freshness. Just as a man who has drunk
too deeply the night before thinks, the morning after, of drinking
nothing but mineral water in future, so he dreamed, today, of pure
affection far from a bed.
He was still ruminating these thoughts when Des Hermies entered.
They spoke of amorous misadventures. Astonished at once by Durtal's
languor and the ascetic tone of his remarks, Des Hermies exclaimed, "Ah,
we had a gay old time last night?"
With the most decisive bad grace Durtal shook his head.
"Then," replied Des Hermies, "you are superior and inhuman. To love
without hope, immaculately, would be perfect if it did not induct such
brainstorms. There is no excuse for chastity, unless one has a pious end
in view, or unless the senses are failing, and if they are one had best
see a doctor, who will solve the question more or less unsatisfactorily.
To tell the truth, everything on earth culminates in the act you
reprove. The heart, which is supposed to be the noble part of man, has
the same form as the penis, which is the so-called ignoble part of man.
There's symbolism in that similarity, because every love which is of
the heart soon extends to the organ resembling it. The human
imagination, the moment it tries to create artificially animated beings,
involuntarily reproduces in them the movements of animals propagating.
Look at the machines, the action of the piston and the cylinder; Romeos
of steel and Juliets of cast iron. Nor do the loftier expressions of the
human intellect get away from the advance and withdrawal copied by the
machines. One must bow to nature's law if one is neither impotent nor a
saint. Now you are neither the one nor the other, I think, but if, from
inconceivable motives, you desire to live in temporary continence,
follow the prescription of an occultist of the sixteenth century, the
Neapolitan Piperno. He affirms that whoever eats vervain cannot approach
a woman for seven days. Buy a jar, and let's try it."
Durtal laughed. "There is perhaps a middle course: never consummate the
carnal act with her you love, and, to keep yourself quiet, frequent
those you do not love. Thus, in a certain measure, you would conjure
away possible disgust."
"No, one would never get it out of one's head that with the woman of
whom one was enamoured one would experience carnal delights absolutely
different from those which one feels with the others, so your method
also would end badly. And too, the women who would not be indifferent to
one, have not charity and discretion enough to admire the wisdom of this
selfishness, for of course that's what it is. But what say, now, to
putting on your shoes? It's almost six o'clock and Mama Carhaix's beef
can't wait."
It had already been taken out of the pot and couched on a platter amid
vegetables when they arrived. Carhaix, sprawling in an armchair, was
reading his breviary.
"What's going on in the world?" he asked, closing his book.
"Nothing. Politics doesn't interest us, and General Boulanger's
American tricks of publicity weary you as much as they do us, I suppose.
The other newspaper stories are just a little more shocking or dull than
usual.--Look out, you'll burn your mouth," as Durtal was preparing to
take a spoonful of soup.
"In fact," said Durtal, grimacing, "this marrowy soup, so artistically
golden, is like liquid fire. But speaking of the news, what do you mean
by saying there is nothing of pressing importance? And the trial of that
astonishing abbé Boudes going on before the Assizes of Aveyron! After
trying to poison his curate through the sacramental wine, and committing
such other crimes as abortion, rape, flagrant misconduct, forgery,
qualified theft and usury, he ended by appropriating the money put in
the coin boxes for the souls in purgatory, and pawning the ciborium,
chalice, all the holy vessels. That case is worth following."
Carhaix raised his eyes to heaven.
"If he is not sent to jail, there will be one more priest for Paris,"
said Des Hermies.
"How's that?"
"Why, all the ecclesiastics who get in bad in the provinces, or who have
a serious falling out with the bishop, are sent here where they will be
less in view, lost in the crowd, as it were. They form a part of that
corporation known as 'scratch priests.'"
"What are they?"
"Priests loosely attached to a parish. You know that in addition to a
curate, ministrants, vicars, and regular clergy, there are in every
church adjunct priests, supply priests. Those are the ones I am talking
about. They do the heavy work, celebrate the morning masses when
everybody is asleep and the late masses when everybody is doing. It is
they who get up at night to take the sacrament to the poor, and who sit
up with the corpses of the devout rich and catch cold standing under the
dripping church porches at funerals, and get sunstroke or pneumonia in
the cemetery. They do all the dirty work. For a five or ten franc fee
they act as substitutes for colleagues who have good livings and are
tired of service. They are men under a cloud for the most part. Churches
take them on, ready to fire them at a moment's notice, and keep strict
watch over them while waiting for them to be interdicted or to have
their _celebret_ taken away. I simply mean that the provincial parishes
excavate on the city the priests who for one reason or another have
ceased to please."
"But what do the curates and other titulary abbés _do_, if they unload
their duties onto the backs of others?"
"They do the elegant, easy work, which requires no effort, no charity.
They shrive society women who come to confession in their most stunning
gowns; they teach proper little prigs the catechism, and preach, and
play the limelight rôles in the gala ceremonials which are got up to
pander to the tastes of the faithful. At Paris, not counting the scratch
priests, the clergy is divided thus: Man-of-the-world priests in easy
circumstances: these are placed at la Madeleine and Saint Roch where the
congregations are wealthy. They are wined and dined, they pass their
lives in drawing-rooms, and comfort only elegant souls. Other priests
who are good desk clerks, for the most part, but who have neither the
education nor the fortune necessary to participate in the
inconsequentialities of the idle rich. They live more in seclusion and
visit only among the middle class. They console themselves for their
unfashionableness by playing cards with each other and uttering crude
commonplaces at the table."
"Now, Des Hermies," said Carhaix, "you are going too far. I claim to
know the clerical world myself, and there are, even in Paris, honest men
who do their duty. They are covered with opprobrium and spat on. Every
Tom, Dick, and Harry accuses them of the foulest vices. But after all,
it must be said that the abbé Boudes and the Canon Docres are
exceptions, thank God! and outside of Paris there are veritable saints,
especially among the country clergy."
"It's a fact that Satanic priests are relatively rare, and the
lecheries of the clergy and the knaveries of the episcopate are
evidently exaggerated by an ignoble press. But that isn't what I have
against them. If only they were gamblers and libertines! But they're
lukewarm, mediocre, lazy, imbeciles. That is their sin against the Holy
Ghost, the only sin which the All Merciful does not pardon."
"They are of their time," said Durtal. "You wouldn't expect to find the
soul of the Middle Ages inculcated by the milk-and-water seminaries."
"Then," Carhaix observed, "our friend forgets that there are impeccable
monastic orders, the Carthusians, for instance."
"Yes, and the Trappists and the Franciscans. But they are cloistered
orders which live in shelter from an infamous century. Take, on the
other hand, the order of Saint Dominic, which exists for the fashionable
world. That is the order which produces jewelled dudes like Monsabre and
Didon. Enough said."
"They are the hussars of religion, the jaunty lancers, the spick and
span and primped-up Zouaves, while the good Capuchins are the humble
poilus of the soul," said Durtal.
"If only they loved bells," sighed Carhaix, shaking his head. "Well,
pass the Coulommiers," he said to his wife, who was taking up the salad
bowl and the plates.
In silence they ate this Brie-type cheese. Des Hermies filled the
glasses.
"Tell me," Durtal asked Des Hermies, "do you know whether a woman who
receives visits from the incubi necessarily has a cold body? In other
words, is a cold body a presumable symptom of incubacy, as of old the
inability to shed tears served the Inquisition as proof positive to
convict witches?"
"Yes, I can answer you. Formerly women smitten with incubacy had frigid
flesh even in the month of August. The books of the specialists bear
witness. But now the majority of the creatures who voluntarily or
involuntarily summon or receive the amorous larvæ have, on the contrary,
a skin that is burning and dry to the touch. This transformation is not
yet general, but tends to become so. I remember very well that Dr.
Johannès, he of whom Gévingey told you, was often obliged, at the moment
when he attempted to deliver the patient, to bring the body back to
normal temperature with lotions of dilute hydriodate of potassium."
"Ah!" said Durtal, who was thinking of Mme. Chantelouve.
"You don't know what has become of Dr. Johannès?" asked Carhaix.
"He is living very much in retirement at Lyons. He continues, I believe,
to cure venefices, and he preaches the blessed coming of the Paraclete."
"For heaven's sake, who is this doctor?" asked Durtal.
"He is a very intelligent and learned priest. He was superior of a
community, and he directed, here in Paris, the only review which ever
was really mystical. He was a theologian much consulted, a recognized
master of divine jurisprudence; then he had distressing quarrels with
the papal Curia at Rome and with the Cardinal-Archbishop of Paris. His
exorcisms and his battles against the incubi, especially in the female
convents, ruined him.
"Ah, I remember the last time I saw him, as if it were yesterday. I met
him in the rue Grenelle coming out of the Archbishop's house, the day he
quitted the Church, after a scene which he told me all about. Again I
can see that priest walking with me along the deserted boulevard des
Invalides. He was pale, and his defeated but impressive voice trembled.
He had been summoned and commanded to explain his actions in the case of
an epileptic woman whom he claimed to have cured with the aid of a
relic, the seamless robe of Christ preserved at Argenteuil. The
Cardinal, assisted by two grand vicars, listened to him, standing.
"When he had likewise furnished the information which they demanded
about his cures of witch spells, Cardinal Guibert said, 'You had best go
to La Trappe.'
"And I remember word for word his reply, 'If I have violated the laws
of the Church, I am ready to undergo the penalty of my fault. If you
think me culpable, pass a canonical judgment and I will execute it, I
swear on my sacerdotal honour; but I wish a formal sentence, for, in
law, nobody is bound to condemn himself: "_Nemo se tradere tenetur_,"
says the Corpus Juris Canonici.'
"There was a copy of his review on the table. The Cardinal pointed to a
page and asked, 'Did you write that?'
"'Yes, Eminence.'
"'Infamous doctrines!' and he went from his office into the next room,
crying, 'Out of my sight!'
"Then Johannès advanced as far as the threshold of the other room, and
falling on his knees, he said, 'Eminence, I had no intention of
offending. If I have done so, I beg forgiveness.'
"The Cardinal cried more loudly, 'Out of my sight before I call for
assistance!'
"Johannès rose and left.
"'All my old ties are broken,' he said, as he parted from me. He was so
sad that I had not the heart to question him further."
There was a silence. Carhaix went up to his tower to ring a peal. His
wife removed the dessert dishes and the cloth. Des Hermies prepared the
coffee. Durtal, pensive, rolled his cigarette.
Carhaix, when he returned, as if enveloped in a fog of sounds,
exclaimed, "A while ago, Des Hermies, you were speaking of the
Franciscans. Do you know that that order, to live up to its professions
of poverty, was supposed not to possess even a bell? True, this rule has
been relaxed somewhat. It was too severe! Now they have a bell, but only
one."
"Just like most other abbeys, then."
"No, because all communities have at least three, in honour of the holy
and triple Hypostasis."
"Do you mean to say that the number of bells a monastery or church can
have is limited by rule?"
"Formerly it was. There was a pious hierarchy of ringing: the bells of a
convent could not sound when the bells of a church pealed. They were the
vassals, and, respectful and submissive as became their rank, they were
silent when the Suzerain spoke to the multitudes. These principles of
procedure, consecrated, in 1590, by a canon of the Council of Toulouse
and confirmed by two decrees of the Congress of Rites, are no longer
followed. The rulings of San Carlo Borromeo, who decreed that a church
should have from five to seven bells, a boy's academy three, and a
parochial school two, are abolished. Today churches have more or fewer
bells as they are more or less rich.... Oh, well, why worry? Where are
the little glasses?"
His wife brought them, shook hands with the guests, and retired.
Then while Carhaix was pouring the cognac, Des Hermies said in a low
voice, "I did not want to speak before her, because these matters
distress and frighten her, but I received a singular visit this morning
from Gévingey, who is running over to Lyons to see Dr. Johannès. He
claims to have been bewitched by Canon Docre, who, it seems, is making a
flying visit to Paris. What have been their relations? I don't know.
Anyway, Gévingey is in a deplorable state."
"Just what seems to be the matter with him?" asked Durtal.
"I positively do not know. I made a careful auscultation and examined
him thoroughly. He complains of needles pricking him around the heart. I
observed nervous trouble and nothing else. What I am most worried about
is a state of enfeeblement inexplicable in a man who is neither
cancerous nor diabetical."
"Ah," said Carhaix, "I suppose people are not betwitched now with wax
images and needles, with the 'Manei' or the 'Dagyde' as it was called in
the good old days."
"No, those practises are now out of date and almost everywhere fallen
into disuse. Gévingey who took me completely into his confidence this
morning, told me what extraordinary recipes the frightful canon uses.
These are, it seems, the unrevealed secrets of modern magic."
"Ah, that's what interests me," exclaimed Durtal.
"Of course I limit myself to repeating what was told me," resumed Des
Hermies, lighting his cigarette. "Well, Docre keeps white mice in cages,
and he takes them along when he travels. He feeds them on consecrated
hosts and on pastes impregnated with poisons skilfully dosed. When these
unhappy beasts are saturated, he takes them, holds them over a chalice,
and with a very sharp instrument he pricks them here and there. The
blood flows into the vase and he uses it, in a way which I shall explain
in a moment, to strike his enemies with death. Formerly he operated on
chickens and guinea pigs, but he used the grease, not the blood, of
these animals, become thus execrated and venomous tabernacles.
"Formerly he also used a recipe discovered by the Satanic society of the
Re-Theurgistes-Optimates, of which I have spoken before, and he prepared
a hash composed of flour, meat, Eucharist bread, mercury, animal semen,
human blood, acetate of morphine and aspic oil.
"Latterly, and according to Gévingey this abomination is more perilous
yet, he stuffs fishes with communion bread and with toxins skilfully
graduated. These toxins are chosen from those which produce madness or
lockjaw when absorbed through the pores. Then, when these fishes are
thoroughly permeated with the substances sealed by sacrilege, Docre
takes them out of the water, lets them rot, distills them, and expresses
from them an essential oil one drop of which will produce madness. This
drop, it appears, is applied externally, by touching the hair, as in
Balzac's _Thirteen_."
"Hmmm," said Durtal, "I am afraid that a drop of this oil long ago fell
on the scalp of poor old Gévingey."
"What is interesting about this story is not the outlandishness of these
diabolical pharmacopoeia so much as the psychology of the persons who
invent and manipulate them. Think. This is happening at the present day,
and it is the priests who have invented philtres unknown to the
sorcerers of the Middle Ages."
"The priests, no! A priest. And what a priest!" remarked Carhaix.
"Gévingey is very precise. He affirms that others use them. Bewitchment
by veniniferous blood of mice took place in 1879 at Châlons-sur-Marne in
a demoniac circle--to which the canon belonged, it is true. In 1883, in
Savoy, the oil of which I have spoken was prepared in a group of
defrocked abbés. As you see, Docre is not the only one who practises
this abominable science. It is known in the convents; some laymen, even,
have an inkling of it."
"But now, admitting that these preparations are real and that they are
active, you have not explained how one can poison a man with them either
from a distance or near at hand."
"Yes, that's another matter. One has a choice of two methods to reach
the enemy one is aiming at. The first and least used is this: the
magician employs a voyant, a woman who is known in that world as 'a
flying spirit'; she is a somnambulist, who, put into a hypnotic state,
can betake herself, in spirit, wherever one wishes her to go. It is then
possible to have her transmit the magic poisons to a person whom one
designates, hundreds of leagues away. Those who are stricken in this
manner have seen no one, and they go mad or die without suspecting the
venefice. But these voyants are not only rare, they are also unreliable,
because other persons can likewise fix them in a cataleptic state and
extract confessions from them. So you see why persons like Docre have
recourse to the second method, which is surer. It consists in evoking,
just as in Spiritism, the soul of a dead person and sending it to strike
the victim with the prepared spell. The result is the same but the
vehicle is different. There," concluded Des Hermies, "reported with
painstaking exactness, are the confidences which our friend Gévingey
made me this morning."
"And Dr. Johannès cures people poisoned in this manner?" asked Carhaix.
"Yes, Dr. Johannès--to my knowledge--has made inexplicable cures."
"But with what?"
"Gévingey tells me, in this connection, that the doctor celebrates a
sacrifice to the glory of Melchisedek. I haven't the faintest idea what
this sacrifice is, but Gévingey will perhaps enlighten us if he returns
cured."
"In spite of all, I should not be displeased, once in my life to get a
good look at Canon Docre," said Durtal.
"Not I! He is the incarnation of the Accursed on earth!" cried Carhaix,
assisting his friends to put on their overcoats.
He lighted his lantern, and while they were descending the stair, as
Durtal complained of the cold, Des Hermies burst into a laugh.
"If your family had known the magical secrets of the plants, you would
not shiver this way," he said. "It was learned in the sixteenth century
that a child might be immune to heat or cold all his life if his hands
were rubbed with juice of absinth before the twelfth month of his life
had passed. That, you see, is a tempting prescription, less dangerous
than those which Canon Docre abuses."
Once below, after Carhaix had closed the door of his tower, they
hastened their steps, for the north wind swept the square.
"After all," said Des Hermies, "Satanism aside--and yet Satanism also is
a phase of religion--admit that, for two miscreants of our sort, we hold
singularly pious conversations. I hope they will be counted in our
favour up above."
"No merit on our part," replied Durtal, "for what else is there to talk
about? Conversations which do not treat of religion or art are so base
and vain."