THE CURÉ'S TALE
After a sojourn of three days at the presbytery of ---- I had so far
gained the curé's confidence that he opened his heart to me, and
related all that he knew as to the history of those persons in whom I
had become so singularly interested.
I will try to tell the tale in his grave and simple words.
"I had been the curé of this parish for about four years, monsieur,
when the house that we have been to look at was bought by an agent, for
M. le Comte Arthur de ----, whose portrait you have seen. I am still
ignorant as to his family name, but I presume that the count was of a
noble and ancient lineage. I judge so, at least, from his title, and
from the almost religious respect he paid the old family portraits which
hung in his study.
"Before the arrival of Count Arthur (for I never heard him called by any
other name) in the village, there came a confidential servant,
accompanied by an architect and several workmen from Paris, who changed
the plain and unpretending country house that then stood here into the
charming habitation you have so much admired. When this was finished the
workmen all went away, and the confidential man alone remained to await
his master.
"Although it was neither in accordance with my avocation nor my nature
to seek information about the people who came to dwell in our little
village, it was impossible to avoid hearing certain rumours, spread
abroad, no doubt, by the foreign workmen. According to these tales, the
count, who was very rich, was coming to live among us with a lady who
was not his wife. Moreover, the life of this gentleman had been, they
said, of such scandalous and shameless immorality that, though he had
not positively been banished from good society, the sort of repulsion
which he inspired, because of certain adventures, was so great that he
felt it would be better for him to live henceforth in retirement.
"You can easily conceive, monsieur, that my first impression, if it was
not hostile, was certainly very unfavourable to this stranger. It is
true, I did not know him, but supposing that these rumours had some
foundation, here he was coming, I say, to set a bad example to our poor
mountaineers, in whose eyes the fortune and rank of the newcomers would
seem to authorise their culpable behaviour.
"These thoughts gave me a great distrust of the count, and I promised
myself, if by a scarcely probable chance he should make me any personal
advances, to meet them with a severe and inexorable coldness, thus
protesting against the immorality of the life he was leading.
"It was two years ago, then, that the count established himself here
with a young woman and a child, whose portraits you have seen. A few
days after his arrival I received a note from him, asking the favour of
an interview. I could not very well refuse, and consequently the count
presented himself at the presbytery. Although my resolution, my habits,
my character, my principles, and the way I have of looking at certain
things and certain men, all prejudiced me against him, I could not help
being immediately prepossessed by his remarkable individuality. You have
seen his portrait, monsieur. I was also captivated by his grave,
polished, and dignified manners, and, above all, by the extent and
nobility of mind which he revealed in the long conversation we had
together, that very first day.
"He began by saying that, coming to dwell in the village of ----, he
considered it a duty and a pleasure to pay me a visit, and that he would
be under a great obligation to me if I would be willing to supervise the
disbursement of twenty-five louis a month which he wished to place at my
disposition, either for the poor of the parish or for the amelioration
of their condition in whatever way I judged most suitable. He also
begged me to talk things over with the doctor of the village, who would
probably know more of the suffering and necessity of the poor than any
one else.
"He furthermore begged me to believe that any request destined to
lighten suffering or prevent misfortune would be heard and granted by
him with the greatest gratification. What shall I say, monsieur? How
shall I tell it to you? The count showed himself to be such a wise and
enlightened philanthropist that, notwithstanding my resolutions and
prejudices, I could not help being struck with astonishment, almost with
admiration, at the sight of a man, still young, and who had, so they
said, surfeited himself on all the pleasures which the rich and
fortunate in this life enjoy, who was able to understand so truly the
sorrows and misery of the obscure, and how to go about helping them in
the surest way.
"But alas! at the end of this conversation, which had held me under an
inexplicable charm, though I struggled against it in vain, my dislike
returned stronger; and I know not to this day whether to my glory or to
my shame, for the count avowed to me shamelessly, as though wishing to
proclaim his impiety, that he 'had no faith in our religions,' but that
he respected them sufficiently to amuse himself with them, and that I
must therefore understand that I need never expect to see him in church.
"What did he mean by those words, 'he had no faith in our religions?' I
ignore the meaning still. Did he mean the religions of Europe? Did he
wish to have it understood that he was neither Catholic nor Protestant,
nor a member of any one of the dissident sects which diverge from
Catholicism, though clinging still to it by the root of Christianity? I
am still ignorant of his creed, though I saw him in his last dreadful
hour.
"As I have told you, monsieur, this resolution of his, never to take
part in the celebration of our holy mysteries, caused me a feeling of
indignation. I saw in it only a disdainful pretext used to hide a total
indifference or a culpable estrangement. Thus I could only see a
scarcely meritorious commiseration in the liberal display of almsgiving,
which his brilliant position and fortune enabled him to make at no
personal sacrifice.
"I was wrong in this, because he confined himself not merely to the
bestowing of gold; he had discussed at length with me the misery of the
poor, and had sought my advice as to the best means of being helpful;
but as I keep telling you, his want of faith in our religion rendered me
unjust, oh, very unjust, as you will see, for I allowed the blow of my
righteous indignation to fall on one who was completely innocent.
"On the Sunday following my conversation with the count, I saw kneeling
in the church the young woman who lived with him, and who, they said,
did not bear his name. This was the truth, as I have since found out.
The liaison was culpable in the eyes of God and men; but alas! if the
crime of these unfortunate beings was great, their chastisement was
terrible.
"Pardon me for being so touched by this remembrance. I was telling you,"
said the abbé, as he wiped away his tears, "that I saw, one Sunday,
this lady kneeling in the church.
"I mounted the pulpit stairs, and went so far in my sermon as to make
direct and even cruel allusions to the detestable immorality of the rich
of this earth, who hoped, I added, to extenuate their faults by
disdainfully throwing alms to the poor. I exalted the poor unfortunate
who prays, believes, and divides the bread for which he is famishing
with one more miserable than himself; while I had only a few cold words
of eulogy to give to the rich man, whose beneficence is only of his
superfluity. I did more; I went further; I exalted the peaceful and
virtuous existence of the poor man who seeks forgetfulness of his ills
in the sweetness of a union blessed by God, and I raised my voice
violently against the rich, who seem to trample underfoot all received
morality, and take a wicked delight in setting at defiance those duties
which, in their impious pride, they regard as beneath their station, and
only suitable for the lower classes.
"Ah, monsieur, I do not reproach myself for those bitter words, for they
but expressed my horror of a conduct which at this hour I think as
criminal as I did then. But can you believe it? since that time I have
been weak enough to bitterly repent of all I then said.
"That Sunday, on hearing my discourse, to which my indignation lent
great energy, the eyes of all our mountaineers were turned towards this
unfortunate woman who was humbly kneeling in their midst. She bent her
head lower, and covered her face with the folds of her veil, while from
the convulsive movements of her shoulders she seemed to be weeping
bitterly. I was elated with triumph, for I thought I had awakened the
spirit of remorse in a guilty soul. When holy service was over I
returned to the presbytery.
"While I had no fear for the anger of the count, who might justly take
offence at my allusions, I was nevertheless preoccupied as to the effect
on him of my discourse.
"The next day he came to see me.
"When my sister came to announce his visit, I could not help feeling a
certain emotion, but his manner was as cordial as on the former
occasion. He said not a word about the sermon of the previous day, but
spoke about the needs of our poor people. He had come to speak to me of
a project he had of establishing a school for the children of the parish
under my direction, communicated to me his ideas on the subject, showed
what I thought to be a wise and remarkable distinction between the
education which ought to be given to children who were destined to
manual labour, and that which would be suitable for those who intended
to follow the liberal professions. He disclosed in this conversation,
during which I again fell under his charm, the highest and broadest
views, and a spirit of maturity and justice. Then he quitted me.
"Alas! monsieur, how inexplicable are the weaknesses of our poor human
nature! I was almost offended by the count's apparent indifference to my
sermon, whereas he showed, by the moderation of his behaviour, a
respectful submission to the duty which my convictions and my nature
imposed on me.
"Soon afterwards, one of the great festivals of the Church drew nigh. I
went to the church to hear the confessions of our mountain people, and
as I was about to enter the confessional I saw among the peasants this
same woman, who was humbly kneeling like all the rest on the cold, moist
stone floor. She waited there a long time, and came in her turn to the
penitential tribunal.
"I am far from indulgent towards our peasants, but I know not why I
should have felt myself disposed to be unusually severe to a person
whose rank seemed to place her above them. The lady's voice was
trembling with emotion, her accent was timid and sweet; and without here
disclosing one of our greatest, one of our most sacred secrets, since,
alas! monsieur, I only tell you the facts which have since been made
public by a frightful event, I recognised that day, and from
thenceforth, a most noble and repentant soul, but at the same time most
weak and guilty in its criminal attachment to the count. This attachment
resembled a sort of exaltation which, were it not almost a profanation
of the words, I might describe as holy and religious.
"What more can I tell you, monsieur! After six months' residence in our
part of the country, the count and this lady, whom our peasants in their
grateful simplicity called 'l'Ange Marie' (for no one had ever heard her
called by any name but Marie),--the count and this lady had been so
charitable that one could hardly find an unhappy creature in the whole
parish. What is more, such was the strange confidence that our
mountaineers had in the inexhaustible beneficence of this sweet soul,
that if sometimes I would seek to deter them from some perilous hunting
excursion by reminding them of their families, should any of them
perish, they would reply to me, 'Father, the Angel Marie will take care
of them.' In short, this lady had become the providence of the village,
and the poor folks relied on her goodness as on the _bon Dieu._
"At the end of a year this beloved and blessed lady fell dangerously
ill. At the sad news, I cannot describe to you, monsieur, the fear or
the despair of our peasants, the prayers, the _ex-voto_ which they
offered for her, the desolation which reigned in the village.
"Fearing to compromise the rigorous severity of my character, although
the count had been to see me every day I had never been to return any of
his visits; but when that lady was very ill, and asked for me, and the
count came and besought me to go to her, I could not refuse to do so. I
found her apparently dying.
"It was a dreadful moment. Never until now had her piety been revealed
to me in all its depth and fervour. I consoled her, I exhorted her. For
eight days we watched her with the greatest anxiety. Finally, her youth
saved her.
"I cannot describe to you, monsieur, the frightful state of mind of the
count during this illness. One night, when we had given up all hope of
saving the sick woman, he terrified me, for, by some words which escaped
him, I realised that, should death be the result of this illness, he
would throw himself from the region of high aspirations and generous
sentiments into an abyss of the greatest perversity, and in that moment
I believed in the reality of all the stories I had heard told about the
count. At last l'Ange Marie was restored to health. Little by little
beauty returned to this noble and charming face, where remorse for a
great fault and the consciousness of a great happiness constantly
struggled for supremacy. Ah, monsieur, as I have said, I had fully
determined never to return to that house, fearing to compromise my
dignity, but I continued to go there. I was wrong, no doubt, but perhaps
in the sight of God I may be forgiven, for that woman and the count were
so charitable to the poor. Thanks to him and thanks to her, I was
enabled to do so much good that I have faith in the pardon of God for
not having repulsed the hand that scattered abroad his alms with so much
kindness and discernment.
"And then, poor priest as I was, I loved science, I was a student, and
there was no one in the village with whom I could converse, while in the
count I discovered one of the most brilliant intellects I have ever
encountered, I will not say among men, for I am very inexperienced in
men and things, but in the books that I had read. His learning was vast,
profound, and almost universal. He appeared to have travelled a great
deal, and yet not to have neglected public life, for when by chance we
would discuss some political question, he would discourse with a
powerful and energetic conciseness. His judgment was clear, penetrating,
and went straight to the point; but strange to say, whether from
reflection, indifference, or contempt, he appeared to be devoid of all
party prejudice or sentiment of caste; it amounted to what you might
call a frightful impartiality. What alarmed and shocked me the most was
that I never heard him pronounce a single word which might lead one to
believe that he entertained the slightest faith in any form of religion.
Although it was tacitly understood between us that we were never to
discuss religious opinions, it would sometimes happen, in the course of
the conversation, he would let fall some words on these formidable
questions which would seem so coldly disinterested that I should, for
the hope of his salvation, have preferred an attack or a denial of these
eternal truths; for then his conversion might have seemed possible at
some future time, whereas this icy indifference left me no hope on that
subject.
"And yet his conduct was a practical example of the most splendid
application of the principles of Christianity, it was the spirit without
the letter. Neither did I ever hear between him and l'Ange Marie any
religious conversation whatever, although their child was piously reared
by its mother in our faith. Though I have frequently seen the count's
eye moistened with tears when the woman he loved would join the hands of
this little angel and make it repeat its prayer to God, I think his
emotion was caused more by the sight of the beautiful face of the child,
and the innocent accents of its voice, than by any devotional words it
may have uttered.
"The lady had received a solid and varied education. She had a
remarkable mind, and, above all, an ineffable indulgence which reached
all classes.
"If the count, whose speech was sometimes biting or sarcastic, attacked
some person or event, contemporaneous or historical, she would always
try to discover in the vilest soul, or the saddest event, some kindly
feeling, some generous instinct, which might serve as an excuse. Then
tears would come into my eyes as I fancied it must be self-reproach, an
unceasing remorse, which rendered this poor woman so forgiving to every
one, as though, feeling her own guiltiness, it was not for her to raise
her voice in accusation of whomsoever it might be.
"And the count, monsieur, if you could have seen with what profound and
respectful tenderness he addressed her! How he would listen to her! With
what delicate pride he knew how to appreciate and draw out all that was
great and noble in the mind and heart of the one he loved so well! How
his face would beam, at the sight of her! Many a time I have seen him
thus silently gaze on her, and then, as though words failed him to
express his admiration, he would join his hands and raise his eyes to
heaven, with a look of indescribable happiness.
"Ah, monsieur, how many long and happy evenings have I thus passed in
the intimacy of these two persons, so culpable and yet so virtuous! How
many times has this fatal and bizarre contrast almost troubled my
reason! How many summer evenings, in quitting them, have I, instead of
returning to the presbytery, gone to wander on the mountain slopes, to
meditate in silence in the sight of God alone! 'Oh, Lord,' cried I, 'how
impenetrable are thy ways! This woman is an adulteress, and is fully
conscious of her fault, since she constantly deplores it. She is very
guilty in thy sight and in the sight of men, and yet, what life could be
more exemplary, more beneficent, more practically touching and virtuous,
than the one she leads? How many times have I not heard her chanting
hymns in thy praise, in a voice so filled with religious fervour as to
carry conviction of her faith! Oh, dear Lord, what dangerous things are
vice and crime, when they clothe themselves under such deceptive
appearances! Must we hate them more? Ought we to have pity on them?
Should they not deserve our pardon? And he, that strange man who says he
has no faith in our religions, of what religion is he? What can be that
ignored religion which imposes on him a life of such goodness and
generosity, which makes him so humane, which causes him to be loved and
blessed by every one? From what unknown source does he derive those
principles of a wise and far-reaching charity? And yet they say that he
has respected nothing that men hold holy and sacred, that he has
trampled underfoot every law of social life. And it must be true, for if
his love of to-day is unlawful, his former life was more criminal still;
they say so, and I believe it; for, as by a flash of lightning one can
see the immensity of the abyss, so, in that fearful moment in which he
feared to lose the one he loved, I had penetrated into the depths of his
soul, and I had shuddered with terror. And yet his conduct has never
given the lie to the nobility of his sentiments. Oh, God, thy ways are
impenetrable!' I repeated more undecided than ever, as I humbled myself
before the mysterious designs of Providence. I was soon to have a
terrible proof of how his inexorable justice inevitably reaches the
guilty.
"Alas! monsieur, my tale is nearing its end, and that end is a frightful
one.
"Three months ago, one evening, I was talking with my sister about an
occurrence which had greatly alarmed me. Two peasants had assured me
that they had seen an old man, with white hair and black eyebrows, whose
face was the colour of copper, and who appeared to be very vigorous for
his age, climb over the wall of the count's garden. Soon afterwards they
had heard two pistol-shots. I had just made up my mind to go and find
out what it all meant, when some one came rushing in and begged me to go
with all speed to the count. Ah, monsieur, imagine my terror! I found
the count and the lady, each one pierced by a ball. One of the two shots
had also reached the poor little child, who was lying in the sleep of
death in his cradle.
"The count had not two minutes to live. His last words were these:
'Marie will tell you all--care for her first.' Then he turned towards
the lady and said, 'Adieu, Marie!--alas!--'tis for ever! Ah,--it is my
fault! If I only had believed you--However--!' And he was dead.
"The lady scarcely survived him a quarter of an hour; and, before
expiring, she confided to me this terrible adventure, to the end that
justice might be done, and to prevent a false accusation of the
innocent.
"In a word, as you have perhaps already guessed, monsieur, the old man
was the husband of this unfortunate woman. Availing himself of the
fearful right which the law gives him, finding his wife and the count
seated near the cradle of their son, he had fired on them twice at close
range. The same ball that killed the mother had killed the child."
"But the old man, what became of him?" I asked the curé, whose story
had greatly affected me.
"I never could find out, monsieur. All that I know is, that a little
Genoese schooner, which had been riding at anchor off the coast for
about eight days, got up sail the evening of this triple murder."
You can conceive the interest this recital awakened in me, and you may
easily fancy that, after hearing the terrible story, I had very little
desire to purchase a place which was connected with such a sad past, and
which seemed to me to be accursed.
I remained at the presbytery until, the time allowed by law for a
private sale having passed, the house was sold to a retired merchant,
who, finding the furniture out of date, put it up at auction.
I bought at the sale, as souvenir of this sad adventure, the harp on
which Marie used to play, a marquetry cabinet which had belonged to the
count, and a few other articles of small value, which I begged the curé
to accept. According to the count's wishes, as expressed in his will,
the price of the house and of its contents (with the exception of all
the family portraits, which were to be burned) was left to the commune
of ----, to be employed in the assistance of its poor.
I left the village full of sad reflections on the mournful tale I had
heard. I had sent to my home the marquetry cabinet.
One day, as I was examining the latter very minutely, I discovered a
drawer with a double bottom. In this secret place was hidden quite a
voluminous manuscript. It was the count's journal.
These fragments appeared to me remarkable in their spirit of analysis,
and by a succession of adventures, very simple, very natural, and
perhaps worthy of interest and study, inasmuch as they portray some
facts common to the lives of most men.
They consist of the following fragmentary sketches, which I will try to
give as nearly as possible in all their simplicity and curious
scepticism. The memoirs seem to include a period of about twelve years.
Although they relate the life of this _inconnu_ from the age of twenty,
and seem by the last date to have been continued until the day preceding
his death, one can see by the note that the story of the first seven
years was written by the count only about five years before his death,
while the history of the last five years constitutes a journal written
almost day by day, and according to the circumstances.
The handwriting of this journal was fine, correct, and often hastily
current, as though the hand and mind had been carried away by the rush
of memories. At other times it was calm and distinct, as though traced
by an iron hand. On the margins were an infinite number of portraits and
silhouettes sketched with a pen with much facility and grace, which must
have been excellent likenesses. Finally, interpolated here and there
were many letters in various handwritings, which were evidently intended
to verify the truth of the statements in this singular manuscript.
HÉLÈNE