WHEREIN WE HEAR THE BEAUTIFUL ARCHANGEL ZITA UNFOLD HER
LOFTY DESIGNS AND ARE SHOWN THE WINGS OF MIRAR, ALL
MOTH-EATEN, IN A CUPBOARD
Thus talking, the two archangels had reached the Boulevard Rochechouart.
As his eye lighted on a tavern, whence, through the mist, the light fell
golden on the pavement, Théophile suddenly bethought himself of the
Archangel Ithuriel who, in the guise of a poor but beautiful woman, was
living in wretched lodgings on La Butte and came every evening to read
the papers at this tavern. The musician often met her there. Her name
was Zita. Théophile had never been curious enough to enquire into the
opinions entertained by this archangel, but it was generally supposed
that she was a Russian nihilist, and he took her to be, like Arcade, an
atheist and a revolutionary. He had heard remarkable tales about her.
People said she was an hermaphrodite, and that as the active and passive
principles were united within her in a condition of stable equilibrium,
she was an example of a perfect being, finding in herself complete and
continuous satisfaction, contented yet unfortunate in that she knew not
desire.
"But," added Théophile, "I have my doubts about it. I believe she's a
woman and subject to love, like everything else that has life and breath
in the Universe. Besides, someone caught her one day kissing her hand to
a strapping peasant fellow."
He offered to introduce his companion to her.
The two angels found her alone, reading. As they drew near she lifted
her great eyes in whose deeps of molten gold little sparks of light were
forever a-dance. Her brows were contracted into that austere fold which
we see on the forehead of the Pythian Apollo; her nose was perfect and
descended without a curve; her lips were compressed and imparted a
disdainful and supercilious air to her whole countenance. Her tawny
hair, with its gleaming lights, was carelessly adorned with the tattered
remnants of a huge bird of prey, her garments lay about her in dark and
shapeless folds. She was leaning her chin on a small ill-tended hand.
Arcade, who had but recently heard references made to this powerful
archangel, showed her marked esteem, and placed entire confidence in
her. He immediately proceeded to tell of the progress his mind had made
towards knowledge and liberty, of his lucubrations in the d'Esparvieu
library, of his philosophical reading, his studies of nature, his works
on exegesis, his anger and his contempt when he recognised the deception
of the demiurge, his voluntary exile among mankind, and, finally, of his
project to stir up rebellion in Heaven. Ready to dare all against an
odious master, whom he pursued with inextinguishable hatred, he
expressed his profound happiness at finding in Ithuriel a mind capable
of counselling and helping him in his great undertaking.
"You are not a very old hand at revolutions," said Zita, smiling.
Nevertheless, she doubted neither his sincerity nor the firmness of his
declared resolve, and she congratulated him on his intellectual
audacity.
"That is what is most lacking in our people," she said, "they do not
think."
And she added almost immediately: "But on what can intelligence sharpen
its wits, in a country where the climate is soft and existence made
easy? Even here, where necessity calls for intellectual activity,
nothing is rarer than a person who thinks."
"Nevertheless," replied Maurice's guardian angel, "man has created
science. The important thing is to introduce it into Heaven. When the
angels possess some notions of physics, chemistry, astronomy, and
physiology; when the study of matter shows them worlds in an atom, and
an atom in the myriads of planets; when they see themselves lost
between these two infinities; when they weigh and measure the stars,
analyse their composition, and calculate their orbits, they will
recognise that these monsters work in obedience to forces which no
intelligence can define, or that each star has its particular divinity,
or indigenous god; and they will realise that the gods of Aldebaran,
Betelgeuse, and Sirius are greater than Ialdabaoth. When at length they
come to scrutinise with care the little world in which their lot is
cast, and, piercing the crust of the earth, note the gradual evolution
of its flora and fauna and the rude origin of man, who, under the
shelter of rocks and in cave dwellings, had no God but himself; when
they discover that, united by the bonds of universal kinship to plants,
beasts, and men, they have successively indued all forms of organic
life, from the simplest and the most primitive, until they became at
length the most beautiful of the children of light, they will perceive
that Ialdabaoth, the obscure demon of an insignificant world lost in
space, is imposing on their credulity when he pretends that they issued
from nothingness at his bidding; they will perceive that he lies in
calling himself the Infinite, the Eternal, the Almighty, and that, so
far from having created worlds, he knows neither their number nor their
laws. They will perceive that he is like unto one of them; they will
despise him, and, shaking off his tyranny, will fling him into the
Gehenna where he has hurled those more worthy than himself."
"Do you think so?" murmured Zita, puffing out the smoke of her
cigarette.... "Nevertheless, this knowledge by virtue of which you
reckon to enfranchise Heaven, has not destroyed religious sentiment on
earth. In countries where they have set up and taught this science of
physics, of chemistry, astronomy, and geology, which you think capable
of delivering the world, Christianity has retained almost all its sway.
If the positive sciences have had such a feeble influence on the beliefs
of mankind, it is not likely they will exercise a greater one on the
opinions of the angels, and nothing is of such dubious efficacy as
scientific propaganda."
"What!" exclaimed Arcade, "you deny that Science has given the Church
its death-blow? Is it possible? The Church, at any rate, judges
otherwise. Science, which you believe has no power over her, is
redoubtable to her, since she proscribes it. From Galileo's dialogues to
Monsieur Aulard's little manuals she has condemned all its discoveries.
And not without reason.
"In former days, when she gathered within her fold all that was great in
human thought, the Church held sway over the bodies as well as over the
souls of men, and imposed unity of obedience by fire and sword. To-day
her power is but a shadow and the elect among the great minds have
withdrawn from her. That is the state to which Science has reduced her."
"Possibly," replied the beautiful archangel, "but how slowly, with what
vicissitudes, at the price of what efforts, of what sacrifices!"
Zita did not absolutely condemn scientific propaganda, but she
anticipated no prompt or certain results from it. For her it was not so
much a question of enlightening the angels; the important thing was to
enfranchise them. In her opinion one only exerted a strong influence on
individuals, whoever they might be, by rousing their passions, and
appealing to their interests.
"Persuade the angels that they will cover themselves with glory by
overthrowing the tyrant, and that they will be happier once they are
free; that is the most practical policy to attempt, and, for my own
part, I am devoting all my energies to its fulfilment. It is certainly
no light task, because the Kingdom of Heaven is a military autocracy and
there is no public opinion in it. Nevertheless, I do not despair of
starting an intellectual movement. I do not wish to boast, but no one is
more closely acquainted than I with the different classes of angelic
society."
Throwing away her cigarette, Zita pondered for a moment, then, amid the
click of ivory balls on the billiard table, the clinking of glasses,
the curt voices of the players announcing their points, the monotonous
answers of the waiters to their customers, the Archangel enumerated the
entire population of the spirits of light.
"We must not count on the Dominations, the Virtues, nor the Powers,
which compose the celestial lower middle class. I have no need to tell
you, for you know it as well as I, how selfish, base, and cowardly the
middle classes are. As to the great dignitaries, the Ministers, the
Generals, Thrones, Cherubim, and Seraphim, you know what they are; they
will take no action. Let us, however, once prove ourselves the stronger,
and we shall have them with us. For if autocrats do not readily
acquiesce in their own downfall, once overthrown, all their forces
recoil upon themselves. It will be well to work the Army. Entirely loyal
as the Army is, it will allow itself to be influenced by a clever
anarchist propaganda. But our greatest and most constant efforts ought
to be brought to bear upon the angels of your own category, Arcade; the
guardian angels, who dwell upon earth in such great numbers. They fill
the lowest ranks of the hierarchy, are for the most part discontented
with their lot, and more or less imbued with the ideas of the present
century."
She had already conferred with the guardian angels of Montmartre,
Clignancourt, and Filles-du-Calvaire. She had devised the plan of a
vast association of Spirits on Earth with the view of conquering Heaven.
"To accomplish this task," she said, "I have established myself in
France. But not because I had the folly to believe myself freer in a
republic than in a monarchy. Quite the contrary, for there is no country
where the liberty of the individual is less respected than in France.
But the people are indifferent to everything connected with religion;
nowhere else, therefore, should I enjoy such tranquillity."
She invited Arcade to unite his efforts to hers, and when they separated
at the door of the _brasserie_ the steel shutter was already making its
groaning descent.
"Above all," said Zita, "you must meet the gardener. I will take you to
his rustic home one day."
Théophile, who had slumbered during all this talk, begged his friend to
come home with him and smoke a cigarette. He lived quite near in the
small street opposite, leading off the Boulevard. Arcade would see
Bouchotte, she would please him.
They climbed up five flights of stairs. Bouchotte had not yet returned.
A tin of sardines lay open on the piano. Red stockings coiled about the
arm-chairs.
"It's a little place, but it's comfortable," said Théophile.
And gazing out of the window which looked out on the russet-coloured
night, with its myriad lights, he added, "One can see the _Sacré
Coeur_." His hand on Arcade's shoulder, he repeated several times, "I am
glad to see you."
Then, dragging his former companion in glory into the kitchen passage,
he put down his candlestick, drew a key from his pocket, opened a
cupboard, and, raising a linen covering, disclosed two large white
wings.
"You see," he said, "I have preserved them. From time to time, when I am
alone, I go and look at them; it does me good."
And he dabbed his reddened eyes. He stood awhile, overcome by silent
emotion. Then, holding the candle near the long pinions which were
moulting their down in places, he murmured, "They are eaten away."
"You must put some pepper on them," said Arcade.
"I have done so," replied the angelic musician, sighing. "I have put
pepper, camphor, and powder on them. But nothing does any good."