In the Library with M. Jerome Coignard--A Conversation on Morals--Taken
to M. d’Asterac’s Study--Salamanders again--The Solar Powder--A Visit
and its Consequences.
The thought of Catherine occupied my mind all the week following that
vexatious adventure. Her image glittered on the leaves of the folios
over which I bent in the library, close to my dear tutor; so much so
that Plotinus, Olympiodorus, Fabricius, Vossius spoke of nothing else to
me than a tiny damsel in a lace chemise. These visions rendered me lazy.
But, indulgent to others, as to himself, M. Jerome Coignard had a kind
smile for my trouble and distraction.
“Jacques Tournebroche,” he said to me, one day, “are you not struck by
the variations in morals during the course of the centuries? The books
in this admirable Asteracian collection witness to the uncertainties of
mankind on this subject. If I reflect upon it, my son, it is to put into
your mind that solid and salutary idea that no good morals are to be
found outside religion, and that the maxims of the philosophers, who
pretend to institute a natural morality, are nothing but whims and
babblings of foolish trash. The rationality of good morals is not to
be found in nature, which in itself is indifferent, ignorant of good or
evil. It is in the divine word, which is not to be trespassed against
without after regret. The laws of humanity are based on utility, and
that can only be an apparent and illusory utility, for nobody knows
naturally what is useful to mankind, nor what is really appropriate to
them. And we must not forget that our habits contain a good moiety
of articles which are of prejudice alone. Upheld by the menace of
chastisement, human laws may be eluded by cunning and dissimulation.
Every man capable of reflection stands above them. Really they are
nothing but booby traps.
“It is not the same thing, my boy, with laws divine. They are
indefeasible, unavoidable and lasting. Their absurdity is in appearance
only, and hides an inconceivable wisdom. If they wound our reason, it
is because they are superior to it, and agree with the true issues of
mankind, and not with the visible ends. It is useful to observe them
when one has the good luck to know them. Yet I find no difficulty in
confessing that the observance of those laws, contained in the Decalogue
and in the commandments of the Church, is difficult at most times,
even impossible without grace, and that sometimes has to be waited
for, because it is a duty to hope. And therefore we are all miserable
sinners.
“And that is where the dispositions of the Christian religion must be
admired, which founds salvation principally on repentance. It must not
be overlooked, my boy, that the greatest saints are penitents, and, as
repentance is proportioned to the sin, it is in the greatest sinners
that the material is found for the greatest saints. I could illustrate
this doctrine with scores of admirable examples. But I have said enough
to make you feel that the raw material of sanctity is concupiscence,
incontinencies, all impurities of flesh and mind. After having collected
the raw material nothing signifies but to fashion it according it
theologic art and to model, so to say, a figure of penitence, which is a
matter of a few years, a few days, sometimes of a single moment only, as
is to be seen in the case of a perfect contrition. Jacques Tournebroche,
if you listen well to my sayings, you will not consume yourself in
miserable cares to become an honest man in a worldly sense, and you’ll
exclusively study to satisfy divine justice.”
I could not help feeling the elevated wisdom enshrined in the maxims of
my dear, good tutor; I was only afraid that these morals, should they be
exercised without discrimination, would carry man to a disorderly life.
I unfolded my doubts to M. Jerome Coignard, who reassured me in the
following terms:
“Jacobus Tournebroche, you do not take note of what I have just
expressly told you, to wit, that what you call disorder is only such
in the opinion of laymen and judges in law--ordinary and
ecclesiastical--and in its bearing on human laws, which are arbitrary
and transitory, and, in a word, to follow these laws is the act of a
silly soul. A sensible man does not pride himself on acting according to
the rules in force at the Châtelet and at the gaol.
“He is uneasy about his salvation, and does not think himself
dishonoured by going to heaven by indirect ways as followed by the
greatest saints. If the blessed Pélagie had not followed the same
profession by which Jeannette, the hurdy-gurdy player you know, earned
her living, under the portico of the Church of Saint Benoît le Bétourné,
that saint would not have been compelled to do full and copious
penitence; and it is extremely probable that, after having lived in
indifferent and banal chastity, she would not, at this very moment speak
of her, be playing the psaltery before the tabernacle where the Holy of
Holies reposes in his glory. Do you call disorder, so fine a regulation
of a predestinated life? Certainly not! Leave such mean ways of speech
to the Superintendent of Police, who after his death will hardly
find the smallest place behind the unfortunates whom now he carries
ignominiously to the spittel. Beyond the loss of the soul and eternal
damnation there can be no other disorders, crimes or evils whatsoever
in this perishable world, where one and all is to be ruled and adjusted
with regard to a divine world. Confess, Tournebroche, my boy, that acts
the most reprehensible in the opinion of men can lead to a good end,
and do not try to reconcile the justice of men with the justice of God,
which alone is just, not in our sense but with finality. And now,
my boy, you’ll greatly oblige me by looking into Vossius for the
signification of five or six rather obscure words which the Panopolitan
employs, and wherewith one has to do battle in the darkness of that
insidious manner which astonished even the willing heart of Ajax,
as reported by Homer, prince of poets and historians. These ancient
alchemists had a tough style. Manilius, may it not displease M.
d’Asterac, writes on the same subjects with more elegance.”
Hardly had my tutor said these last words when a shadow arose between
him and myself. It was that of M. d’Asterac, or rather it was M.
d’Asterac himself, thin and black like a shadow.
It may be that he had not heard that talk, maybe he disdained it, for
certainly he did not show any kind of resentment. On the contrary, he
congratulated M. Jerome Coignard on his zeal and knowledge, and further
said that he relied on his enlightenment for the achievement of the
greatest work that man had ever attempted. And turning to me he said:
“Be so good as to come for a moment to my study, where I intend to make
known to you a secret of consequence.”
I went with him to the same room where he had first received us, my
tutor and myself, on the day we entered his service. I found there,
exactly as on that occasion, ranged along the walls, the ancient
Egyptians with golden faces. A glass globe of the size of a pumpkin
stood on a table. M. d’Asterac sank on a sofa, and signed to me to take
a seat near him, and having twice or thrice passed a hand covered with
jewels and amulets across his forehead said:
“My son, I do not wish to injure you by believing that, after our
conversation on the Isle of Swans, you still doubt of the existence of
Sylphs and Salamanders, who are as real as men and perhaps more so, if
one measures reality by the duration of the appearances by which it is
displayed, their existence being very much longer than ours. Salamanders
range from century to century in unalterable youth; some of them have
seen Noah, Moses and Pythagoras. The wealth of their recollections and
the freshness of their memory render their conversation attractive to
the utmost. It has been pretended that they gain immortality in the arms
of men, and that the hope of never dying led them into the beds of the
philosophers, But those are fables unfit to seduce a reflecting mind.
All union of sexes, far from ensuring immortality to lovers, is a sign
of death, and we could not know love were we to live indefinitely. It
could not be otherwise with the Salamanders, who look in the arms of the
wise for nothing else but for one single kind of immortality--that is,
of the race. It is also the only one which can be reasonably expected.
And, much as I promise myself to prolong human life in a notable
manner--that is, to extend it over at least five or six centuries--I
have never flattered myself to assure it perpetuity. It would be insane
to want to go against the established rules of nature, Therefore, my
son, reject as a vain fable the idea of immortality to be sucked in with
a kiss. It is to the shame of more than one of the cabalists to have
ever conceived such an idea. But for all that it is quite evident
that Salamanders are inclined to man’s love. You’ll soon experience it
yourself. I have sufficiently prepared you for a visit from them, and
as, since the night of your initiation, you have not had any impure
intercourse with a woman you will obtain the reward of your continency.”
My natural candidness suffered by receiving praise which I had merited
against my own will, and I wished to confess to M. d’Asterac my guilty
thoughts. But he did not give me time to do so, and continued with
vivacity:
“Nothing now remains for me, my son, but to give you the key which opens
the empire of the genii. That is what I am going to do at once.”
Rising he put a hand on the globe which covered one half of the table.
“This globe,” he said, “is full of a solar powder which escapes being
visible to you by its own purity. It is much too delicate to be seen by
means of the coarse senses of men. So comes it, my son, that the finest
parts of the universe are concealed from our sight and reveal themselves
only to the learned, provided with apparatus proper for this discovery.
The rivers and the aerial landscapes, for example, remain invisible,
even as their aspect is a thousand times richer and more variegated than
the most beautiful terrestrial landscape.
“Know, then, that in this bowl is a solar powder superlatively proper
to exalt the fire we have within us. The effect of this exaltation is
imminent. It consists of a subtlety of the senses allowing us to see and
touch the aerial figures floating around us. As soon as you have
broken the seal which locks the aperture of this globe, and inhaled
the escaping solar powder, you will in this room discover one or more
creatures resembling women by the system of curved outlines forming
their bodies, but much more beautiful than was ever any woman, and
who are in fact Salamanders. No doubt the one I saw last year in your
father’s cookshop will be the first one to appear here to you, as she
has a liking for you, and I strongly counsel you to hasten to comply
with her wishes. And now make yourself easy in that arm-chair, open the
globe, and gently inhale the contents. Very soon you will see all I have
announced to you realised, point by point. I leave you. Good-bye.”
And he disappeared in a manner which was strangely sudden. I remained
alone before that glass globe, hesitating to unlock it, afraid lest some
stupefying exhalation should escape from it. I thought that perhaps M.
d’Asterac had put in it, as an artifice, some of those vapours which
benumb those who inhale them and make them dream of Salamanders. I was
still not enough of a philosopher to be desirous of becoming happy
by such means. Possibly, I said to myself, such vapours predispose to
madness; and finally I became defiant enough to think of going to the
library to ask advice of M. Jerome Coignard. But I soon became aware
that such would be a needless trouble; as soon as I began to speak
to him of solar powder and aerial genii he would start: “Jacques
Tournebroche, remember, my boy, that you must never put faith in
absurdities, but bring home to your reason all matters except those of
our holy religion. Stuff and nonsense all these globes and powders, with
all the other follies of the cabala and the spagyric art.”
I imagined I could hear him talk like that in the interval between two
pinches of snuff, and I really did not know what to reply to such a
Christian speech. On the other hand, I thought in advance how puzzled I
should be to reply to M. d’Asterac when he inquired of me after news of
the Salamander. What could I say? How was I to avow my reserve and
my abstention without betraying my defiance and fear? And after all,
without being aware of it, I was curious to try the adventure. I am not
credulous. On the contrary I am marvellously inclined to doubt, and
by this inclination to brave common-sense, as well as evidence and
everything else. Of the strangest things that may be told me, I say to
myself, “Why not?” This “Why not?” wronged my natural intelligence in
sight of that globe. This “Why not?” pushed me towards credulity, and
it may be interesting to remark, on this occasion, to believe in nothing
means to believe in everything, and that the mind is not to be kept too
free and too vacant, for fear that commodities of extravagant form and
weight should enter by a loophole, commodities of a kind which could not
find room in minds reasonably and tolerably well furnished with belief.
And while, with my hand on the wax seal, I remembered what my mother had
narrated to me of the magic bottle, my “Why not?” whispered to me that
perhaps, after all, aerial fairies may be visible through the dust of
the sun. But as soon as this idea, having entered into my mind, began to
become easy therein, I found it to be odd, absurd and grotesque. Ideas,
when they impose themselves, very soon become impudent. But few are apt
to be better than pleasant passers-by; and, decidedly, this very one had
somehow an air of madness. During the time I asked myself, “Shall I open
it?” “Shall I not?” the seal, which I had held continuously between my
pressing fingers, broke suddenly in my hand, and the flagon was open.
I waited, I observed, I saw nothing, I felt nothing. And I was
disappointed, so much the hope of stepping out of nature is prone and
ready to glide into our souls! Nothing! Not even a vague or confused
illusion, an uncertain image! What I had foreseen occurred. What a
deception! I felt somewhat vexed. Reclined in my arm-chair I vowed to
myself, before all the black-haired Egyptians surrounding me, to close
my soul better in the future to the lies of the cabalists; and once more
recognised my dear teacher’s wisdom and resolved, like him, to be
guided by reason in all matters not connected with faith, Christian and
Catholic. Expecting the visit of a lady Salamander, what silliness! Is
it possible that Salamanders exist? But what is known about it, and “Why
not?”
Since noon the air was heavy, now it became stifling. Rendered torpid by
long days of quietness and seclusion, I felt a weight on my forehead and
eyes. The approach of a thunderstorm lay heavy on me. I let my arms hang
down, and, with head thrown back, and eyes closed, I glided into a doze
full of golden Egyptians and lustful shadows. In this uncertain state
the sense of love alone was alive in my body, like a fire in the night.
How long it had lasted I could not say, when I was awakened by a sound
of light steps and the rustling of a dress. I opened my eyes and gave a
great shout.
A marvellous creature stood before me, clad in black satin, a lace veil
on her head--a dark woman with blue eyes, of resolute features in a
juvenile and pure skin, round cheeks and the mouth animated as by an
invisible kiss. The short skirt let little feet be seen, dancing,
jolly, spirited feet. She held herself upright, but was round, somewhat
thick-set, in her voluptuous perfection. Under the black velvet ribbon
round her throat a little square of her bosom was visible, brown, but
dazzling. She looked on me with an air of curiosity. I have said already
how sleep had rendered me amorous. I rose quickly, and stepped forward.
“Excuse me,” she said, “I am looking for M. d’Asterac.”
I said to her:
“Madam, there is no M. d’Asterac. There is you and I. I expected you.
You are a Salamander. I have opened the crystal flagon. You have come.
You are mine.”
I took her in my arms and covered with kisses all places my lips could
find uncovered by her dress.
She tore herself away and said:
“You are mad.”
“That is quite natural,” I replied. “Who in my place could remain sane?”
She lowered her eyes, blushed, and smiled. I fell at her feet.
“As M. d’Asterac is not here,” she said, “I had better retire.”
“Remain!” I cried, and bolted the door.
“Do you know if he will soon be back?”
“No, madam! He will not return for a long time. He left me alone with
the Salamanders. But I want one only, and that one is you.”
I lifted her in my arms, carried her to the sofa, fell down on it
with her, and smothered her with kisses. I was out of my senses. She
screamed, I did not hear her; she pushed me back with outstretched
hands; her fingernails scratched me all over, and her vain defence only
excited my frenzy. I pressed, enlaced her, she fell back worn out. Her
mollified body gave way, she closed her eyes and soon, in my triumph,
her beautiful arms, reconciled, pressed me on her bosom.
Released, alas! from that delicious embrace, we looked at one another
with surprise. Occupied to get up again decently she put her dress in
order and remained silent.
“I love you,” I said. “What is your name?”
I did not think her to be a Salamander, and to say the truth never did
think so.
“My name is Jahel,” she said.
“What! you’re the niece of Mosaïde?”
“Yes; but keep quiet. If he should know--”
“What would he do?”
“Oh! nothing to me--nothing. But to you the worst. He dislikes
Christians.”
“And you?”
“Oh! I? I dislike the Jews.”
“Jahel, do you love me a little?”
“It seems to me, sir, that after what we have just now said to one
another, your question is an offence.”
“True, mademoiselle, but I try to obtain forgiveness for a vivacity, an
ardour, which did not take the leisure to consult your sentiments.”
“Oh! monsieur, do not make yourself out to be more guilty than you
really are. All your violence, and all your passion, would not have
served you at all, had I not found you lovable. When I saw you sleeping
in that arm-chair, I liked your looks, waited for your awakening--the
rest you know.”
As reply I gave her a kiss, she gave it me back, what a kiss! I fancied
fresh-gathered strawberries melting in my mouth. My desire revived and
passionately I pressed her on my heart.
“This time,” she said, “be less hasty, and do not think only of
yourself. You must not be selfish in love. Young men do not sufficiently
know that. But we teach them.”
And we immersed ourselves in an unfathomable depth of deliciousness.
After that the divine Jahel asked of me:
“Have you a comb? I look like a witch.”
“Jahel,” I answered, “I have no comb. I had expected a Salamander. I
adore you.”
“Adore me, dearest, but remain secret. You do not know Mosaïde.”
“What, Jahel. Is he still so terrible as that, at the age of one hundred
and thirty years, of which he has lived sixty-five inside a pyramid?”
“I see, my friend, that stories of my uncle have been told you and that
you were simple enough to believe them. Nobody knows his age; I myself
am ignorant of it, but I have always known him as an old man. I know
only that he is robust and of uncommon strength. He has been a banker at
Lisbon, where he killed a Christian he surprised in the arms of my Aunt
Myriam. He took to flight, and carried me with him. Since then he loves
me with the tenderness of a mother. He tells me things that are told to
little children only, and he cries when he sees me asleep.”
“Do you live with him?”
“Yes, in the keeper’s lodge, at the other end of the park.”
“I know; you reach it by the lane where mandrakes are to be found. How
is it that I did not meet you before? By what sinister destiny, living
so near you, have I lived without seeing you? But what do I say, lived?
Is it to live without knowing you? Are you shut up in yonder lodge?”
“It is true I am somewhat of a recluse, and cannot go for walks as I
wish, to the shops, to theatres. Mosaïde’s tenderness does not leave me
any liberty. He guards me jealously, and, besides six small gold cups
he brought with him from Lisbon, he loves but me on earth. As he is much
more attached to me than he was to my Aunt Myriam, he would kill you,
dear, with a better heart than he killed the Portuguese. I warn you so,
to impress the necessity of discretion on you, and because it is not
a consideration which could stop a brave gentleman. Are you of a good
family, my friend?”
“Alas! no; my father applies himself to a mechanic art, and has a sort
of trade.”
“And he is not of any of the professions? Does not belong to the banking
world? No? It is a pity. Well, you’re to be loved for yourself. But
speak the truth. Is M. d’Asterac to be back shortly?”
At this name and question a terrible doubt came in my mind. I suspected
the enchanting Jahel to have been sent by the cabalist to play the part
of a Salamander with me. I went so far as to excuse her in my mind of
being the nymph of that old fool. To obtain an immediate explanation
I bluntly and coarsely asked her if she was in the habit of acting the
Salamander in the castle.
“I don’t understand you,” she replied, looking at me with eyes full of
innocent surprise. “You speak like M. d’Asterac himself, and I could
believe you to be attacked by his mania also, if I had not proved that
you do not share the aversion to women that he has. He cannot stand
any female, and it is a real annoyance to me to see and speak with him.
Nevertheless I was looking for him when I found you.”
The pleasure of being reassured made me again smother her with kisses.
She managed to let me see that she had black stockings which, over the
knees, were held up by garters ornamented with diamond buckles and
that sight brought back my mind to ideas pleasant to her. Besides she
entreated me on the welcome subject with much ability and fervour, and
I was aware that she became excited over the game at the very moment I
began to get fatigued from it, However I did my best, and was fortunate
enough to spare the beautiful girl a disgrace which she did not deserve
in the least. It seemed to me that she was not discontented with me. She
rose, very quietly, and said:
“Do you really not know if M. d’Asterac will soon be back? I confess to
you that I came to ask him for a small amount of that pension he owes to
my uncle, a trifle only. I very badly want it just now.”
I took my purse out and handed her, with due excuses, the three crowns
it contained. It was all that remained of the too rare liberalities of
the cabalist who, professing to dislike money, unluckily forgot to pay
me my salary.
I asked Mademoiselle Jahel if I should not have the pleasure of seeing
her again.
“You will,” she replied.
And we agreed that she should ascend at night-time to my room whenever
she could escape from the lodge, where she was pretty nearly a prisoner.
“Take care to remember,” I told her, “that my room is the fourth on the
right of the corridor and Abbé Coignard’s the fifth. The others give
access to the lofts, where two or three scullions lodge, and hundreds of
rats.”
She assured me that she would be very careful not to make a mistake, and
would scratch on my door and not on any other.
“Besides,” she continued, “your Abbé Coignard seems to be a very good
man, and I am pretty sure that we have in no way to be afraid of him. I
looked at him, through a peephole, on the day he came with you to visit
my uncle! I thought him amiable, though I could not hear what he said.
Principally his nose I thought to be really ingenious and capable. A man
with such a nose ought to be full of expedients and I very much wish
to become acquainted with him. One can but better one’s mind by having
intercourse with people of high spirit. I am only sorry that my uncle
was not pleased with his words and scoffing humour. Mosaïde hates him,
and of his capacity for hate no Christian can form an idea.”
“Mademoiselle,” I replied, “Monsieur l’Abbé Jérôme Coignard is a very
learned man, and he has in addition philosophy and kindness. He knows
the world, and you are quite right in believing him to be a good
counsellor. I regulate myself fully after his advice. But, tell me, did
you see me also, on yonder day, at the lodge, through the peephole you
spoke of?”
“I saw you,” she said to me, “and I will not hide from you that I was
pleased. But I must return to my uncle. Good-bye.”
The same evening, after supper, M. d’Asterac did not fail to ask me for
news of the Salamander. His curiosity troubled me somewhat. My answer
was that the meeting had surpassed all my expectations, but that I
thought it my duty to confine myself to a discretion due to such kind of
adventures.
“That discretion, my son,” he said, “is not of so much use in your
case as you represent. Salamanders do not want their amours to be kept
secret, they are not ashamed of them. One of those nymphs who loves me
does not know of a sweeter pastime than to engrave my initials enlaced
with hers on the bark of trees, as you can see for yourself by examining
the stems of five or six Scotch firs, the exquisite tops of which you
can see from yonder windows. But have you not, my son, learned that that
kind of amour, truly sublime, far from leaving any fatigue behind,
lends to the heart a new vigour? I am sure that after what passed to-day
you’ll employ your night in translating at least sixty pages of Zosimus
the Panopolitan.”
I confessed that on the contrary I felt very sleepy, which he explained
by reason of the astonishment produced by such a first meeting. And
so the great man remained convinced that I had had intercourse with a
Salamander. I felt some scruples at deceiving him, but I was compelled
to do it and, besides, he deceived himself to such a degree that it
was hardly possible to add anything to his illusions. So I ascended
peacefully to my room, went to bed, and blew the candle out at the end
of the most glorious day of my life.