by Voltaire
‘It’s the most precious thing I possess,’ he told them. ‘I have been assured that I should always be happy so long as I wear this little trinket, and now I give it you to secure your happiness.’
The Prior and the lady smiled tenderly at the Child of Nature’s simplicity. The present consisted of two crudely painted miniatures held together by a greasy strap.
Mademoiselle de Kerkabon asked him whether they had painters in Huronia.
‘No,’ replied the Child of Nature. ‘This rarity came to me from my nurse. All that I know of it is that her husband acquired it as spoils of war from some French Canadians.’
The Prior looked closely at the portraits. His colour changed, and he became so agitated that his hands trembled.
‘By Our Lady of the Mountain,’ he exclaimed. ‘That’s the face of my brother the Captain, I feel sure, and that’s his wife’s!’
Mademoiselle de Kerkabon examined them with the same excitement, and came to the same conclusion. Both were rapt with astonishment. The joy they felt was mingled with grief, and tears of tenderness welled in their eyes. Their hearts throbbed, and they uttered cries as they snatched the portraits from each other, exchanging them at least twenty times a second.
They eagerly compared the portraits with the Huron’s features, and implored him one after another, and both at the same time, to tell them when, where, and how these miniatures had fallen into the hands of his nurse. They agreed in their reckoning of the time that had elapsed since the Captain’s departure; they remembered receiving news that he had reached the land of the Hurons, and that after that they had heard no more of him.
The Child of Nature had told them that he had known neither father nor mother. The Prior, who was an intelligent man, noticed that the Child of Nature had a small beard, and he knew very well that Hurons are beardless.
‘His chin is downy, so he must be the son of a European. My brother and my sister-in-law never reappeared after the expedition against the Hurons in 1699. My nephew must still have been at the breast. His Huron nurse saved his life and was a mother to him.’
At last, after innumerable questions and answers, the Prior and his sister decided that the Huron really was their own nephew. They embraced him with tears in their eyes, and the young man laughed at the idea of a Huron being the nephew of a Breton Prior.
At this point the other guests appeared. Monsieur de St Yves, who was a great physiognomist, compared both portraits with the Huron’s face, and very cleverly pointed out that he had his mother’s eyes, the late Captain Kerkabon’s forehead and nose, and cheeks which belonged to both of them.
Mademoiselle de St Yves, who had never seen either the mother or the father, was in no doubt that the resemblance was perfect. They were astonished at the ways of Providence, and at the chain of events in this world. At last, such was their persuasion, nay conviction, about his birth, that the Child of Nature himself consented to be the nephew of the Prior, saying that he would make as good an uncle as anyone else.
While thanks were given to God in the Church of Our Lady of the Mountain, the Huron, with an air of indifference, stayed in the house drinking until the English who had brought him came to tell him that they were ready to set sail and it was time to leave.
‘Apparently,’ said he, ‘you have not been reunited with your uncles and aunts. I am staying here. Go back to Plymouth and you can have all my clothes, for I have no more need of anything as I am the nephew of a Prior.’
The English set sail, not caring overmuch whether the Huron had found relatives in Lower Brittany or not.
After uncle, aunt, and the whole company had sung the Te Deum, and the Magistrate had once more overwhelmed the Huron with questions, and they had exhausted everything that astonishment, joy, and tenderness could bring to mind, the Prior of the Mountain and the Abbé de St Yves decided that they must baptize the young man without further delay. But it was not the same thing christening a great Huron twenty-two years old as regenerating a baby who knows nothing of what is going on. He must be instructed, and that seemed to raise a difficulty, because the Abbé de St Yves did not imagine that a man not born in France could have any common sense.
The Prior, on the other hand, reminded the company that although his nephew had not had the good fortune to be born in Lower Brittany, he had intelligence none the less, as they could judge from his replies; and surely he had been greatly blessed by nature in both his parents.
The first question was, had he read any books? He said he had read an English translation of Rabelais, and some extracts from Shakespeare, which he knew by heart; these were books which he had found in the cabin of the vessel which brought him from America to Plymouth, and they had given him great pleasure. The Magistrate seized the opportunity to question him about these books.
‘I admit,’ said the Huron, ‘that I thought I understood something, and didn’t fathom the rest.’
The Abbé de St Yves reflected that this had always been his own way of reading, and that of most other people.
‘You have read the Bible, of course?’ he asked the Huron.
‘Never, Monsieur l’Abbé,’ was the reply. ‘It was not among the Captain’s books. I have never heard of it.’
‘Just like those accursed English!’ cried Mademoiselle de Kerkabon. ‘A play by Shakespeare, a plum pudding, a bottle of rum, mean more to them than the Pentateuch! And so, they have never converted anybody in America. There’s no doubt about it, they are cursed by God; we shall take Jamaica and Virginia from them in no time!’
Be that as it may, the most skilful tailor in St Malo was sent for to clothe the Child of Nature from head to foot. The party broke up; the Magistrate went off to ask his questions elsewhere. Mademoiselle de St Yves could not tear herself away and kept turning round to look at the Child of Nature, who bowed to her more deeply than he had ever done to anyone in his life.
Before the Magistrate said farewell, he introduced Mademoiselle de St Yves to his great booby of a son just fresh from school; but she hardly noticed him, so preoccupied was she with the politeness of the Huron.
CHAPTER 3
THE CONVERSION OF THE CHILD OF NATURE
IT occurred to the Prior that as he was getting on in years and God had sent him a nephew for his consolation, he might be able to hand his living over to him, if only he could get him baptized and into Holy Orders.
The Child of Nature had an excellent memory. The vigour of his Breton constitution, fortified by the climate of Canada, had made his head so strong that he hardly felt a knock on the outside, while an impression on the inside was there for ever; he had never forgotten anything. As he had not had his head stuffed in childhood with the trivialities and stupidities which overburden ours, his understanding was lively and fresh, and everything he learned entered an unclouded brain. At last the Prior decided to make him read the New Testament.
The Child of Nature devoured it with much pleasure; but not knowing where or when all the events reported in the Book took place, he naturally assumed that the setting was Lower Brittany; he swore that he would cut off Caiaphas’s nose and ears, and Pilate’s too, if he ever came across the scoundrels.
His uncle was delighted to find him so well disposed, and soon put him right. He praised his enthusiasm, but pointed out how useless it was, since the fellows had died about sixteen hundred and ninety years ago. The Child of Nature soon knew nearly all the Book by heart. Every now and then he produced difficulties which gave the Prior a good deal of trouble. He was often obliged to consult the Abbé de St Yves, who had no answer either and had to summon a Low-Breton Jesuit to complete the Huron’s conversion.
Grace at last prevailed, and the Child of Nature promised to become a Christian.
He had no doubt that the first step was to be circumcised, for as he said, ‘There’s not a single person in the Book I have been given to read who had not been; there is no doubt I must sacrifice my foreskin, and the sooner the better!’ He wasted no time in deliberation, but sen
t at once for the village surgeon and begged him to perform the operation, rejoicing in the infinite pleasure it would give to Mademoiselle de Kerkabon and to all the company once it had been done. The village sawbones, who had never performed this operation, thought it best to warn the family, who uttered cries of distress. The good Mademoiselle de Kerkabon was terrified lest her nephew, who seemed so resolute and impetuous, should attempt the operation himself and bungle it, and that sad effects might result which are always a matter of concern to the ladies, such is the kindness of their hearts.
The Prior put the Huron’s ideas in order once more, and made it clear that circumcision was no longer fashionable; baptism, he said, was much gentler and healthier, and the law of grace was not the same as the law of rigour. The Child of Nature argued, but his honesty and commonsense enabled him to acknowledge his mistake, which happens very rarely in Europe when people argue; at last he promised to be baptized whenever they liked.
The essential preliminary was confession, and this proved the greatest obstacle. In his pocket he always carried the Book his uncle had given him, and being unable to find that a single apostle had ever gone to confession, he became very obstinate. The Prior silenced him by showing him the passage in the Epistle of St James which has been such a stumbling block to heretics: ‘Confess your sins one to another’. The Huron gave way, and confessed to a monk. When he had finished, he pulled the monk out of the confessional, seized him with his powerful arm, made him change places, and forced him to his knees in front of him. ‘Now, my friend,’ said he, ‘confess your sins one to another. I’ve told you my sins. You shan’t leave this place until you have told me yours.’
As he spoke, he leant his great knee against the chest of the opposing party. The monk howled and screamed until the church resounded. At the noise, people ran up and saw the would-be communicant pommelling the monk in the name of St James the Less. The joy of baptizing an English and Huron Low-Breton was so great that this singular behaviour was overlooked. And many theologians who were consulted thought that confession was not strictly necessary, since baptism took the place of everything.
A day was fixed with the Bishop of St Malo; understandably flattered at the prospect of baptizing a Huron, he arrived in a splendid equipage attended by his clergy. Mademoiselle de St Yves praised God as she put on her most handsome dress and sent for a hairdresser from St Malo in order to shine at the ceremony. The inquisitive Magistrate turned up, with all the countryside. The church was magnificently decorated. But when the time came to lead the Huron to the baptismal font, he was not to be found.
His uncle and aunt searched everywhere for him. They thought he had gone hunting as usual, and all the guests helped to search the woods and neighbouring villages, but there was no news of the Huron.
They began to fear that he might have gone back to England, for they remembered hearing him mention how much he liked that country. The Prior and his sister were convinced that there was no baptism over there, and trembled for the soul of their nephew. The Bishop was dumbfounded, and made ready to return; the Prior and the Abbé de St Yves were in despair, and the Magistrate questioned all the passers-by with his usual pomposity. Mademoiselle de Kerkabon wept. Not so Mademoiselle de St Yves; but she sighed deeply in a way which suggested a great liking for the sacraments. The two women were wandering sadly among the willows and reeds which border the little river Rance when they saw in mid-stream a tall pale figure, with its hands crossed on its breast. They shrieked and turned away; but curiosity triumphing over every other consideration, they soon crept quietly back among the reeds until they were sure of not being observed, for they wished to see what it was all about.
CHAPTER 4
THE CHILD OF NATURE BAPTIZED
THE Prior and the Abbé hurried to the scene and asked the Child of Nature what he was doing there.
‘Why, what do you imagine? I am waiting for my baptism! I have been in the water up to my neck for a whole hour, and it’s not fair to let me freeze to death.’
‘My dear nephew,’ said the Prior, tenderly, ‘this is not the way we baptize people in Lower Brittany. Put on your clothes again, and come with us.’
Mademoiselle de St Yves heard this conversation, and whispered to her companion: ‘Do you think he will put his clothes on straight away?’
Meanwhile the Huron was arguing with the Prior: ‘You won’t take me in so easily this time as you did before! I have been studying hard since then, and I am quite certain that this is the only way to be baptized. Queen Candace’s eunuch was baptized in a stream, and I defy you to show me a single case in the Book you have given me where it was done differently! I will be baptized in the river, or not at all!’
It was in vain to try to persuade him that customs had changed, because as a Huron and a Breton he was naturally stubborn, and kept coming back to Queen Candace’s eunuch. And although his aunt and Mademoiselle de St Yves, having watched him from among the willows, might well have told him that it was not for him to follow such an example, they were silenced by their admirable discretion. The Bishop himself was gracious enough to come and talk to him, but it was of no avail, for the Huron argued with the Bishop.
‘Show me,’ he asked him, ‘one single instance, in the Book my uncle gave me, of a man who was not baptized in a river, and I will do all you want.’
In despair, his aunt remembered the marked preference her nephew had shown for Mademoiselle de St Yves: on the first occasion that he had made a bow, he had bowed more deeply to her than to anyone else present, and not even the Bishop had been greeted with the respect and cordiality he had shown to that beautiful young lady. She made up her mind to appeal to her in this embarrassing situation, and begged her to use her favoured position to persuade the Huron to let himself be baptized in the same manner as the Bretons, for she did not believe that her nephew could ever be a Christian if he persisted in wanting to be baptized in running water.
Mademoiselle de St Yves, blushing with secret pleasure at being given such an important commission, approached him modestly and clasped his hand with a noble gesture:
‘Won’t you do something for me?’ she said. And as she spoke the words she lowered her eyes and raised them, with a most moving grace.
‘Oh, Madam! I will do anything you wish, anything you command; baptism by water, baptism by fire, baptism by blood, there is nothing I would refuse you.’
Mademoiselle de St Yves won the glory of accomplishing with two words what neither the persuasions of the Prior, nor the repeated interrogations of the Magistrate, nor even the reasonings of the Bishop, had been able to achieve. She enjoyed her triumph, but she did not yet realize the extent of it.
The baptism was both administered and received with full decorum; great was the magnificence, and universal the pleasure. The uncle and aunt relinquished to the Abbé de St Yves and his sister the honour of standing as godparents. Mademoiselle de St Yves was radiant with joy at finding herself a godmother. She did not know to what bondage this great title subjected her, nor what would be the fatal consequences of accepting this honour.
As no ceremony has ever been complete without a great dinner, the company sat down to table after leaving the baptism. The scoffers of Lower Brittany remarked that at least it was not necessary to baptize the wine. The Prior remarked that wine, according to Solomon, rejoices the heart of man. The Bishop added that the patriarch Judah was to tie his young ass to the vine and steep his cloak in the blood of the grape. He himself regretted that this was impossible in Lower Brittany, where the Lord had not provided vines. Each guest tried to be witty about the Huron’s baptism, and to address compliments to the godmother. The ever-curious Magistrate asked the Huron if he would be faithful to his vows.
‘How can you imagine I should be false to my promises,’ replied the Huron, ‘when I made them in the presence of Mademoiselle de St Yves?’
The Huron grew excited, and drank his godmother’s health many times over.
‘If I had been bapti
zed at your hands,’ he cried, ‘I believe that the cold water would have burnt me as it was poured over the back of my neck.’
The Magistrate thought this speech too poetic, for he did not know how familiarly allegory is used in Canada. But it pleased the godmother immensely.
The name of Hercules had been given to the newly baptized Christian. The Bishop of St Malo kept asking who this saint could be, for he had never heard him mentioned. The Jesuit, who was very learned, was able to tell him that he was a saint who had performed twelve miracles. There was indeed a thirteenth, worth all the others, but which it did not become a Jesuit to describe – the feat of transforming fifty maidens into women in a single night. A wag who was present warmly praised this miracle. All the ladies lowered their eyes, and judged from the Huron’s features that he was a worthy successor to the saint whose name he bore.
CHAPTER 5
THE CHILD OF NATURE IN LOVE
IT must be admitted that from the time of this baptism and dinner Mademoiselle de St Yves felt a passionate longing for the Bishop to make her a participant in some other beautiful sacrament with Monsieur Hercules, the Child of Nature. She was too well brought up and too modest, however, to give these tender sentiments full rein even to herself; but if a look, a word, a gesture, or a thought escaped her, she concealed it in a veil of modesty that was infinitely charming. She was tender and lively, and she was wise.
As soon as the Bishop had departed, the Child of Nature and Mademoiselle de St Yves found themselves together without noticing that the one had sought the other’s company. They talked to each other without having thought what they would say. The Child of Nature told her immediately that he loved her with all his heart, and that the beautiful Abacaba, whom he had worshipped in his own country, was not to be compared to her. The lady replied, with her usual modesty, that he must speak straight away to his uncle the Prior, and to his aunt; she for her part would drop a word into her dear brother’s ear, and she was confident that they would all give their consent.