Là-bas

by J.-K. Huysmans

  CHAPTER XXI

  Durtal had resolved not to answer Mme. Chantelouve's letters. Every day,since their rupture, she had sent him an inflamed missive, but, as hesoon noticed, her Maenad cries were subsiding into plaints andreproaches. She now accused him of ingratitude, and repented havinglistened to him and having permitted him to participate in sacrilegesfor which she would have to answer before the heavenly tribunal. Shepleaded to see him once more. Then she was silent for a while week.Finally, tired, no doubt, of writing unanswered letters, she admitted,in a last epistle, that all was over.

  After agreeing with him that their temperaments were incompatible, sheended:

  "Thanks for the trig little love, ruled like music-paper, that you gave me. My heart cannot be so straitly measured, it requires more latitude--"

  "Her heart!" he laughed, then he continued to read:

  "I understand that it is not your earthly mission to satisfy my heart but you might at least have conceded me a frank comradeship which would have permitted me to leave my sex at home and to come and spend an evening with you now and then. This, seemingly, so simple, you have rendered impossible. Farewell forever. I have only to renew my pact with Solitude, to which I have tried to be unfaithful--"

  "With solitude! and that complaisant and paternal cuckold, her husband!Well, he is the one most to be pitied now. Thanks to me, he had eveningsof quiet. I restored his wife, pliant and satisfied. He profited by myfatigues, that sacristan. Ah, when I think of it, his sly, hypocriticaleyes, when he looked at me, told me a great deal.

  "Well, the little romance is over. It's a good thing to have your hearton strike. In my brain I still have a house of ill fame, which sometimescatches fire, but the hired myrmidons will stamp out the blaze in ahurry.

  "When I was young and ardent the women laughed at me. Now that I am oldand stale I laugh at them. That's more in my character, old fellow," hesaid to the cat, which, with ears pricked up, was listening to thesoliloquy. "Truly, Gilles de Rais is a great deal more interesting thanMme. Chantelouve. Unfortunately, my relations with him are also drawingto a close. Only a few more pages and the book is done. Oh, Lord! Herecomes Rateau to knock my house to pieces."

  Sure enough, the concierge entered, made an excuse for being late, tookoff his vest, and cast a look of defiance at the furniture. Then hehurled himself at the bed, grappled with the mattress, got a half-Nelsonon it, and balancing himself, turning half around, hurled it onto thesprings.

  Durtal, followed by his cat, went into the other room, but suddenlyRateau ceased wrestling and came and stood before Durtal.

  "Monsieur, do you know what has happened?" he blubbered.

  "Why, no."

  "My wife has left me."

  "Left you! but she must be over sixty."

  Rateau raised his eyes to heaven.

  "And she ran off with another man?"

  Rateau, disconsolate, let the feather duster fall from his listlesshand.

  "The devil! Then, in spite of her age, your wife had needs which youwere unable to satisfy?"

  The concierge shook his head and finally succeeded in saying, "It wasthe other way around."

  "Oh," said Durtal, considering the old caricature, shrivelled by bad airand "three-six," "but if she is tired of that sort of thing, why did sherun off with a man?"

  Rateau made a grimace of pitying contempt, "Oh, he's impotent. Good fornothing--"

  "Ah!"

  "It's my job I'm sore about. The landlord won't keep a concierge thathasn't a wife."

  "Dear Lord," thought Durtal, "how hast thou answered my prayers!--Comeon, let's go over to your place," he said to Des Hermies, who, findingRateau's key in the door, had walked in.

  "Righto! since your housecleaning isn't done yet, descend like a godfrom your clouds of dust, and come on over to the house."

  On the way Durtal recounted his concierge's conjugal misadventure.

  "Oh!" said Des Hermies, "many a woman would be happy to wreathe withlaurel the occiput of so combustible a sexagenarian.--Look at that!Isn't it revolting?" pointing to the walls covered with posters.

  It was a veritable debauch of placards. Everywhere on lurid colouredpaper in box car letters were the names of Boulanger and Jacques.

  "Thank God, this will be over tomorrow."

  "There is one resource left," said Des Hermies. "To escape the horrorsof present day life never raise your eyes. Look down at the sidewalkalways, preserving the attitude of timid modesty. When you look only atthe pavement you see the reflections of the sky signs in all sorts offantastic shapes; alchemic symbols, talismanic characters, bizarrepantacles with suns, hammers, and anchors, and you can imagine yourselfright in the midst of the Middle Ages."

  "Yes, but to keep from seeing the disenchanting crowd you would have towear a long-vizored cap like a jockey and blinkers like a horse."

  Des Hermies sighed. "Come in," he said, opening the door. They went inand sitting down in easy chairs they lighted their cigarettes.

  "I haven't got over that conversation we had with Gevingey the othernight at Carhaix's," said Durtal. "Strange man, that Dr. Johannes. Ican't keep from thinking about him. Look here, do you sincerely believein his miraculous cures?"

  "I am obliged to. I didn't tell you all about him, for a physician can'tlightly make these dangerous admissions. But you may as well know thatthis priest heals hopeless cases.

  "I got acquainted with him when he was still a member of the Parisianclergy. It came about by one of those miracles of his which I don'tpretend to understand.

  "My mother's maid had a granddaughter who was paralyzed in her arms andlegs and suffered death and destruction in her chest and howled when youtouched her there. She had been in this condition two years. It had comeon in one night, how produced nobody knows. She was sent away from theLyons hospitals as incurable. She came to Paris, underwent treatment atLa Salpetriere, and was discharged when nobody could find out what wasthe matter with her nor what medication would give her any relief. Oneday she spoke to me of this abbe Johannes, who, she said, had curedpersons in as bad shape as she. I did not believe a word, but hearingthat the priest refused to take any money for his services I did notdissuade her from visiting him, and out of curiosity I went along.

  "They placed her in a chair. The ecclesiastic, little, active,energetic, took her hand and applied to it, one after the other, threeprecious stones. Then he said coolly, 'Mademoiselle, you are the victimof consanguineal sorcery.'

  "I could hardly keep from laughing.

  "'Remember,' he said,'two years back, for that is when your paralyticstroke came on. You must have had a quarrel with a kinsman orkinswoman?'

  "It was true. Poor Marie had been unjustly accused of the theft of awatch which was an heirloom belonging to an aunt of hers. The aunt hadsworn vengeance.

  "'Your aunt lives in Lyons?'

  "She nodded.

  "'Nothing astonishing about that,' continued the priest. 'In Lyons,among the lower orders, there are witch doctors who know a little aboutthe witchcraft practised in the country. But be reassured. These peopleare not powerful. They know little more than the A B C's of the art.Then, mademoiselle, you wish to be cured?'

  "And after she replied that she did, he said gently, 'That is all. Youmay go.'

  "He did not touch her, did not prescribe any remedy. I came awaypersuaded that he was a mountebank. But when, three days later, the girlwas able to raise her arms, and all her pain had left her, and when, atthe end of a week, she could walk, I had to yield in face of theevidence. I went back to see him, had occasion to do him a service; andthus our relations began."

  "But what are his methods?"

  "He opens, like the curate of Ars, with prayer. Then he evokes themilitant archangels, then he breaks the magic circles andchases--'classes,' as he says--the spirits of Evil. I know very wellthat this is confounding. Whenever I speak of this man's potency to myconfreres they smile with a superior air or serve up to me the speciousarguments which th
ey have fabricated to explain the cures wrought byChrist and the Virgin. The method they have imagined consists instriking the patient's imagination, suggesting to him the will to becured, persuading him that he is well, hypnotizing him in a wakingstate--so to speak. This done--say they--the twisted legs straighten,the sores disappear, the consumption-torn lungs are patched up, thecancers become benign pimples, and the blind eyes see. This procedurethey attribute to miracle workers to explain away the supernatural--whydon't they use the method themselves if it is so simple?"

  "But haven't they tried?"

  "After a fashion. I was present myself at an experiment attempted by Dr.Luys. Ah, it was inspiring! At the charity hospital there was a poorgirl paralyzed in both legs. She was put to sleep and commanded to rise.She struggled in vain. Then two interns held her up in a standingposture, but her lifeless legs bent useless under her weight. Need Itell you that she could not walk, and that after they had held her upand pushed her along a few steps, they put her to bed again, havingobtained no result whatever."

  "But Dr. Johannes does not cure all sufferers, without discrimination?"

  "No. He will not meddle with any ailments which are not the result ofspells. He says he can do nothing with natural ills, which are theprovince of the physician. He is a specialist in Satanic affections. Hehas most to do with the possessed whose neuroses have proved obdurate tohydrotherapeutic treatment."

  "What does he do with the precious stones you mentioned?"

  "First, before answering your question, I must explain the significanceand virtue of these stones. I shall be telling you nothing new when Isay that Aristotle, Pliny, all the sages of antiquity, attributedmedical and divine virtues to them. According to the pagans, agate andcarnelian stimulate, topaz consoles, jasper cures languor, hyacinthdrives away insomnia, turquoise prevents falls or lightens the shock,amethyst combats drunkenness.

  "Catholic symbolism, in its turn, takes over the precious stones andsees in them emblems of the Christian virtues. Then, sapphire representsthe lofty aspirations of the soul, chalcedony charity, sard and onyxcandor, beryl allegorizes theological science, hyacinthe humility, whilethe ruby appeases wrath, and emerald 'lapidifies' incorruptible faith.

  "Now in magic," Des Hermies rose and took from a shelf a very smallvolume bound like a prayer book. He showed Durtal the title: _Naturalmagic, or: The secrets and miracles of nature, in four volumes, byGiambattista Porta of Naples. Paris. Nicolas Bonjour, rue Neuve NostreDame at the sign Saint Nicolas_. 1584.

  "Natural magic," said Des Hermies, "which was merely the medicine of thetime, ascribes a new meaning to gems. Listen to this. After firstcelebrating an unknown stone, the Alectorius, which renders itspossessor invincible if it has been taken out of the stomach of a cockcaponized four years before or if it has been ripped out of theventricle of a hen, Porta informs us that chalcedony wins law suits,that carnelian stops bloody flux 'and is exceeding useful to women whoare sick of their flower,' that hyacinth protects against lightning andkeeps away pestilence and poison, that topaz quells 'lunatic' passions,that turquoise is of advantage against melancholy, quartan fever, andheart failure. He attests finally that sapphire preserves courage andkeeps the members vigorous, while emerald, hung about one's neck, keepsaway Saint John's evil and breaks when the wearer is unchaste.

  "You see, antique philosophy, mediaeval Christianity, and sixteenthcentury magic do not agree on the specific virtues of every stone.Almost in every case the significations, more or less far-fetched,differ. Dr. Johannes has revised these beliefs, adopted and rejectedgreat numbers of them, finally he has, on his own authority, admittednew acceptations. According to him, amethyst does cure drunkenness; butmoral drunkenness, pride; ruby relieves sex pressure; beryl fortifiesthe will; sapphire elevates the thoughts and turns them toward God.

  "In brief, he believes that every stone corresponds to a species ofmalady, and also to a class of sins; and he affirms that when we havechemically got possession of the active principle of gems we shall havenot only antidotes but preventatives. While waiting for this chimericaldream to be realized and for our medicine to become the mock of lapidarychemists, he uses precious stones to formulate diagnoses of illnessesproduced by sorcery."

  "How?"

  "He claims that when such or such a stone is placed in the hand or onthe affected part of the bewitched a fluid escapes from the stone intohis hands, and that by examining this fluid he can tell what is thematter. In this connection he told me that a woman whom he did not knowcame to him one day to consult him about a malady, pronounced incurable,from which she had suffered since childhood. He could not get anyprecise answers to his questions. He saw no signs of venefice. Aftertrying out his whole array of stones he placed in her hand lapis lazuli,which, he says, corresponds to the sin of incest. He examined the stone.

  "'Your malady,' he said, 'is the consequence of an act of incest.'

  "'Well,' she said, 'I did not come here to confessional,' but shefinally admitted that her father had violated her before she attainedthe age of puberty.

  "That, of course, is against reason and contrary to all accepted ideas,but there is no getting around the fact that this priest cures patientswhom we physicians have given up for lost."

  "Such as the only astrologer Paris now can boast, the astoundingGevingey, who would have been dead without his aid. I wonder howGevingey came to cast the Empress Eugenie's horoscope."

  "Oh, I told you. Under the Empire the Tuileries was a hotbed of magic.Home, the American, was revered as the equal of a god. In addition tospiritualistic seances he evoked demons at court. One evocation hadfatal consequences. A certain marquis, whose wife had died, imploredHome to let him see her again. Home took him to a room, put him in bed,and left him. What ensued? What dreadful phantom rose from the tomb? Wasthe story of Ligeia re-enacted? At any rate, the marquis was found deadat the foot of the bed. This story has recently been reported by LeFigaro from unimpeachable documents.

  "You see it won't do to play with the world spirits of Evil. I used toknow a rich bachelor who had a mania for the occult sciences. He waspresident of a theosophic society and he even wrote a little book on theesoteric doctrine, in the Isis series. Well, he could not, like thePeladan and Papus tribe, be content with knowing nothing, so he went toScotland, where Diabolism is rampant. There he got in touch with the manwho, if you stake him, will initiate you into the Satanic arcana. Myfriend made the experiment. Did he see him whom Bulwer Lytton in_Zanoni_ calls 'the dweller of the threshold'? I don't know, but certainit is that he fainted from horror and returned to France exhausted, halfdead."

  "Evidently all is not rosy in that line of work," said Durtal. "But itis only spirits of Evil that can be evoked?"

  "Do you suppose that the Angels, who, of earth, obey only the saints,would ever consent to take orders from the first comer?"

  "But there must be an intermediate order of angels, who are neithercelestial nor infernal, who, for instance, commit the well-knownasininities in the spiritist seances."

  "A priest told me one day that the neuter larvae inhabit an invisible,neutral territory, something like a little island, which is beseiged onall sides by the good and evil spirits. The larvae cannot long hold outand are soon forced into one or the other camp. Now, because it is theselarvae they evoke, the occultists, who cannot, of course, draw down theangels, always get the ones who have joined the party of Evil, sounconsciously and probably involuntarily the spiritist is alwaysdiabolizing."

  "Yes, and if one admits the disgusting idea that an imbecile medium canbring back the dead, one must, in reason, recognize the stamp of Satanon these practises."

  "However viewed, Spiritism is an abomination."

  "So you don't believe in theurgy, white magic?"

  "It's a joke. Only a Rosicrucian who wants to hide his more repulsiveessays at black magic ever hints at such a thing. No one dare confessthat he satanizes. The Church, not duped by these hair-splittingdistinctions, condemns black and white magic indifferently."

/>   "Well," said Durtal, lighting a cigarette, after a silence, "this is abetter topic of conversation than politics or the races, but where doesit get us? Half of these doctrines are absurd, the other half somysterious as to produce only bewilderment. Shall we grant Satanism?Well, gross as it is, it seems a sure thing. And if it is, and one isconsistent, one must also grant Catholicism--for Buddhism and the likeare not big enough to be substituted for the religion of Christ."

  "All right. Believe."

  "I can't. There are so many discouraging and revolting dogmas inChristianity--"

  "I am uncertain about a good many things, myself," said Des Hermies,"and yet there are moments when I feel that the obstacles are givingway, that I almost believe. Of one thing I _am_ sure. The supernaturaldoes exist, Christian or not. To deny it is to deny evidence--and whowants to be a materialist, one of these silly freethinkers?"

  "It is mighty tiresome to be vacillating forever. How I envy Carhaix hisrobust faith!"

  "You don't want much!" said Des Hermies. "Faith is the breakwater of thesoul, affording the only haven in which dismasted man can glide along inpeace."

  CHAPTER XXII

  "You like that?" asked Mme. Carhaix. "For a change I served the brothyesterday and kept the beef for tonight. So we'll have vermicelli soup,a salad of cold meat with pickled herring and celery, some nice mashedpotatoes _au gratin_, and a dessert. And then you shall taste the newcider we just got."

  "Oh!" and "Ah!" exclaimed Des Hermies and Durtal, who, while waiting fordinner, were sipping the elixir of life. "Do you know, Mme. Carhaix,your cooking tempts us to the sin of gluttony--If you keep on you willmake perfect pigs of us."

  "Oh, you are joking. I wonder what is keeping Louis."

  "Somebody is coming upstairs," said Durtal, hearing the creaking ofshoes in the tower.

  "No, it isn't his step," and she went and opened the door. "It'sMonsieur Gevingey."

  And indeed, clad in his blue cape, with his soft black hat on his head,the astrologer entered, made a bow, like an actor taking a curtain call,nibbed his great knuckles against his massive rings, and asked where thebell-ringer was.

  "He is at the carpenter's. The oak beams holding up the big bell arecracked and Louis is afraid they will break down."

  "Any news of the election?" and Gevingey took out his pipe and filledit.

  "No. In this quarter we shan't know the results until nearly teno'clock. There's no doubt about the outcome, though, because Paris isstrong for this democratic stuff. General Boulanger will win handsdown."

  "This certainly is the age of universal imbecility."

  Carhaix entered and apologized for being so late. While his wife broughtin the soup he took off his goloshes and said, in answer to his friends'questions, "Yes; the dampness had rusted the frets and warped the beams.It was time for the carpenter to intervene. He finally promised that hewould be here tomorrow and bring his men without fail. Well, I am mightyglad to get back. In the streets everything whirls in front of my eyes.I am dizzy. I don't know what to do. The only places where I am at homeare the belfry and this room. Here, wife, let me do that," and he pushedher aside and began to stir the salad.

  "How good it smells!" said Durtal, drinking in the incisive tang of theherring. "Do you know what this perfume suggests? A basket funnelledfireplace, twigs of juniper snapping in it, in a ground-floor roomopening on to a great harbour. It seems to me there is a sort of saltwater halo around these little rings of gold and rustediron.--Exquisite," he said as he tasted the salad.

  "We'll make it again for you, Monsieur Durtal," said Mme. Carhaix, "youare not hard to please."

  "Alas!" said her husband, "his palate isn't, but his soul is. When Ithink of his despairing aphorisms of the other night! However, we arepraying God to enlighten him. I'll tell you," he said to his wife, "wewill invoke Saint Nolasque and Saint Theodulus, who are alwaysrepresented with bells. They sort of belong to the family, and they willcertainly be glad to intercede for people who revere them and theiremblems."

  "It would take a stunning miracle to convince Durtal," said Des Hermies.

  "Bells have been known to perform them," said the astrologer. "Iremember to have read, though I forget where, that angels tolled theknell when Saint Isidro of Madrid was dying."

  "And there are many other cases," said Carhaix. "Of their own accordthe bells chimed when Saint Sigisbert chanted the De Profundis over thecorpse of the martyr Placidus, and when the body of Saint Ennemond,Bishop of Lyons, was thrown by his murderers into a boat without oars orsails, the bells rang out, though nobody set them in motion, as the boatpassed down the Saone."

  "Do you know what I think?" asked Des Hermies, looking at Carhaix. "Ithink you ought to prepare a compendium of hagiography or a reallyinformative work on heraldry."

  "What makes you think that?"

  "Well, you are, thank God, remote from this epoch and fond of thingswhich it knows nothing about or execrates, and a work of that kind wouldtake you still further away. My good friend, you are the man foreverunintelligible to the coming generations. To ring bells because you lovethem, to give yourself over to the abandoned study of feudal art ormonasticism would make you complete--take you clear out of Paris, out ofthe world, back into the Middle Ages."

  "Alas," said Carhaix, "I am only a poor ignorant man. But the type youspeak of does exist. In Switzerland, I believe, a bell-ringer has foryears been collecting material for a heraldic memorial. I should think,"he continued, laughing, "that his avocation would interfere with hisvocation."

  "And do you think," said Gevingey bitterly, "that the profession ofastrologer is less decried, less neglected?"

  "How do you like our cider?" asked the bell-ringer's wife. "Do you findit a bit raw?"

  "No, it's tart if you sip it, but sweet if you take a good mouthful,"answered Durtal.

  "Wife, serve the potatoes. Don't wait for me. I delayed so long gettingmy business done that it's time for the angelus. Don't bother about me.Go on eating. I shall catch up with you when I get back."

  And as her husband lighted his lantern and left the room the womanbrought in on a plate what looked to be a cake covered with golden browncaramel icing.

  "Mashed potatoes, I thought you said!"

  "_Au gratin_. Browned in the oven. Taste it. I put in everything thatought to make it very good."

  All exclaimed over it.

  Then it became impossible to hear oneself. Tonight the bell boomed outwith unusual clarity and power. Durtal tried to analyze the sound whichseemed to rock the room. There was a sort of flux and reflux of sound.First, the formidable shock of the clapper against the vase, then a sortof crushing and scattering of the sounds as if ground fine with thepestle, then a rounding of the reverberation; then the recoil of theclapper, adding, in the bronze mortar, other sonorous vibrations whichit ground up and cast out and dispersed through the sounding shutters.

  Then the bell strokes came further apart. Now there was only thewhirring as of a spinning wheel; a few crumbs were slow about falling.And now Carhaix returned.

  "It's a two-sided age," said Gevingey, pensive. "People believe nothing,yet gobble everything. Every day a new science is invented. Nobody readsthat admirable Paracelsus who rediscovered all that had ever been foundand created everything that had not. Say now to your congress ofscientists that, according to this great master, life is a drop of theessence of the stars, that each of our organs corresponds to a planetand depends upon it; that we are, in consequence, a foreshortening ofthe divine sphere. Tell them--and this, experience attests--that everyman born under the sign of Saturn is melancholy and pituitous, taciturnand solitary, poor and vain; that that sluggish star predisposes tosuperstition and fraud, directs epilepsies and varices, hemorrhoids andleprosies; that it is, alas! the great purveyor to hospital andprison--and the scientists will shrug their shoulders and laugh at you.The glorified pedants and homiletic asses!"

  "Paracelsus," said Des Hermies, "was one of the most extraordinarypractitioners of occult medicine. He k
new the now forgotten mysteries ofthe blood, the still unknown medical effects of light. Professing--asdid also the cabalists, for that matter--that the human being iscomposed of three parts, a material body, a soul, and a perispiritcalled also an astral body, he attended this last especially andproduced reactions on the carnal envelope by procedures which are eitherincomprehensible or fallen into disuse. He cared for wounds by treatingnot the tissues, but the blood which came out of them. However, we areassured that he healed certain ailments."

  "Thanks to his profound knowledge of astrology," said Gevingey.

  "But if the study of the sidereal influence is so important," saidDurtal, "why don't you take pupils?"

  "I can't get them. Where will you unearth people willing to study twentyyears without glory or profit? Because, to be able to establish ahoroscope one must be an astronomer of the first order, know mathematicsfrom top to bottom, and one must have put in long hours tussling withthe obscure Latin of the old masters. Besides, you must have thevocation and the faith, and they are lost."

  "Just the way it is with bell ringing," said Carhaix.

  "No, you see, messieurs," Gevingey went on, "the day when the grandsciences of the Middle Ages fell foul of the systematic and hostileindifference of an impious people was the death-day of the soul inFrance. All we can do now is fold our arms and listen to the wildvagaries of society, which by turns shrieks with farcical joy and bittergrief."

  "We must not despair. A better time is coming," said Mme. Carhaix in aconciliating tone, and before she retired she shook hands with all herguests.

  "The people," said Des Hermies, pouring the water into the coffee-pot,"instead of being ameliorated with time, grow, from century to century,more avaricious, abject, and stupid. Remember the Siege, the Commune;the unreasonable infatuations, the tumultuous hatreds, all the dementiaof a deteriorated, malnourished people in arms. They certainly cannotcompare with the naif and tender-hearted plebes of the Middle Ages. Tellus, Durtal, how the people acted when Gilles de Rais was conducted tothe stake."

  "Yes, tell us," said Carhaix, his great eyes made watery by the smoke ofhis pipe.

  "Well, you know, as a consequence of unheard-of crimes, the Marshal deRais was condemned to be hanged and burned alive. After the sentence waspassed, when he was brought back to his dungeon, he addressed a lastappeal to the Bishop, Jean de Malestroit, beseeching the Bishop tointercede for him with the fathers and mothers of the children Gilleshad so ferociously violated and put to death, to be present when hesuffered.

  "The people whose hearts he had lacerated wept with pity. They now sawin this demoniac noble only a poor man who lamented his crimes and wasabout to confront the Divine Wrath. The day of execution, by nineo'clock they were marching through the city in processional. Theychanted psalms in the streets and took vows in the churches to fastthree days in order to help assure the repose of the Marshal's soul."

  "Pretty far, as you see, from American lynch law," said Des Hermies.

  "Then," resumed Durtal, "at eleven they went to the prison to get Gillesde Rais and accompanied him to the prairie of Las Biesse, where tallstakes stood, surmounted by gibbets.

  "The Marshal supported his accomplices, embraced them, adjured them tohave 'great displeasure and contrition of their ill deeds' and, beatinghis breast, he supplicated the Virgin to spare them, while the clergy,the peasants, and the people joined in the psalmody, intoning thesinister and imploring strophes of the chant for the departed:

  "'Nos timemus diem judicii Quia mali et nobis conscii. Sed tu, Mater summi concilii, Para nobis locum refugii, O Maria.

  "'Tunc iratus Judex--'"

  "Hurrah for Boulanger!"

  The noise as of a stormy sea mounted from the Place Saint Sulpice, and ahubbub of cries floated up to the tower room. "Boulange--Lange--" Thenan enormous, raucous voice, the voice of an oyster woman, a push-cartpeddler, rose, dominating all others, howling, "Hurrah for Boulanger!"

  "The people are cheering the election returns in front of the cityhall," said Carhaix disdainfully.

  They looked at each other.

  "The people of today!" exclaimed Des Hermies.

  "Ah," grumbled Gevingey, "they wouldn't acclaim a sage, an artist, thatway, even--if such were conceivable now--a saint."

  "And they did in the Middle Ages."

  "Well, they were more naif and not so stupid then," said Des Hermies."And as Gevingey says, where now are the saints who directed them? Youcannot too often repeat it, the spiritual councillors of today havetainted hearts, dysenteric souls, and slovenly minds. Or they are worse.They corrupt their flock. They are of the Docre order and Satanize."

  "To think that a century of positivism and atheism has been able tooverthrow everything but Satanism, and it cannot make Satanism yield aninch."

  "Easily explained!" cried Carhaix. "Satan is forgotten by the greatmajority. Now it was Father Ravignan, I believe, who proved that thewiliest thing the Devil can do is to get people to deny his existence."

  "Oh, God!" murmured Durtal forlornly, "what whirlwinds of ordure I seeon the horizon!"

  "No," said Carhaix, "don't say that. On earth all is dead anddecomposed. But in heaven! Ah, I admit that the Paraclete is keeping uswaiting. But the texts announcing his coming are inspired. The future iscertain. There will be light," and with bowed head he prayed fervently.

  Des Hermies rose and paced the room. "All that is very well," hegroaned, "but this century laughs the glorified Christ to scorn. Itcontaminates the supernatural and vomits on the Beyond. Well, how can wehope that in the future the offspring of the fetid tradesmen of todaywill be decent? Brought up as they are, what will they do in Life?"

  "They will do," replied Durtal, "as their fathers and mothers do now.They will stuff their guts and crowd out their souls through theiralimentary canals."

  FINIS