But D‘Artagnan took very little heed of the eloquent discourse of M. Bazin; and as he had no desire to support a polemic discussion with his friend’s valet, he simply moved him out of the way with one hand, and with the other turned the handle of the door of Number Five. The door opened, and D’Artagnan went into the chamber.
Aramis, in a black gown, his head enveloped in a sort of round, flat cap, not much unlike a
calotte,
was seated before an oblong table, covered with rolls of paper and enormous volumes in folio. At his right hand was placed the superior of the Jesuits, and on his left the curate of Montdidier. The curtains were half drawn, and only admitted the mysterious light calculated for beatific reveries. All the mundane objects that generally strike the eye on entering the room of a young man, particularly when that young man is a Musketeer, had disappeared as if by enchantment; and for fear, no doubt, that the sight of them might bring his master back to ideas of this world, Bazin had laid his hands upon sword, pistols, plumed hat, and embroideries and laces of all kinds and sorts. In their stead D’Artagnan thought he perceived in an obscure corner a discipline cord suspended from a nail in the wall.
At the noise made by D’Artagnan in entering, Aramis lifted up his head, and beheld his friend; but to the great astonishment of the young man, the sight of him did not produce much effect upon the Musketeer, so completely was his mind detached from the things of this world.
“Good day, dear D’Artagnan,” said Aramis; “believe me, I am glad to see you.”
“So am I delighted to see you,” said D’Artagnan, “although I am not yet sure that it is Aramis I am speaking to.”
“To himself, my friend, to himself! but what makes you doubt it?”
“I was afraid I had made a mistake in the chamber, and that I had found my way into the apartment of some churchman. Then another error seized me on seeing you in company with these gentlemen—I was afraid you were dangerously ill.”
The two men in black, who guessed D‘Artagnan’s meaning, darted at him a glance which might have been thought threatening; but D’Artagnan took no heed of it.
“I disturb you, perhaps, my dear Aramis,” continued D’Artagnan, “for by what I see, I am led to believe that you are confessing to these gentlemen.”
Aramis colored imperceptibly. “You disturb me? Oh, quite the contrary, dear friend, I swear; and as a proof of what I say, permit me to declare I am rejoiced to see you safe and sound.”
“Ah, he’ll come round,” thought D’Artagnan; “that’s not bad!”
“This gentleman, who is my friend, has just escaped from a serious danger,” continued Aramis, with unction, pointing to D’Artagnan with his hand, and addressing the two ecclesiastics.
“Praise God, monsieur,” replied they, bowing together.
“I have not failed to do so, your Reverences,” replied the young man, returning their salutation.
“You arrive in good time, dear D’Artagnan,” said Aramis, “and by taking part in our discussion may assist us with your intelligence. Monsieur the Principal of Amiens, Monsieur the Curate of Montdidier, and I are arguing certain theological questions in which we have been much interested; I shall be delighted to have your opinion.”
“The opinion of a swordsman can have very little weight,” replied D’Artagnan, who began to be uneasy at the turn things were taking, “and you had better be satisfied, believe me, with the knowledge of these gentlemen.”
The two men in black bowed in their turn.
“On the contrary,” replied Aramis, “your opinion will be very valuable. The question is this: Monsieur the Principal thinks that my thesis ought to be dogmatic and didactic.”
“Your thesis! Are you then making a thesis?”
“Without doubt,” replied the Jesuit. “In the examination which precedes ordination, a thesis is always requisite.”
“Ordination!” cried D’Artagnan, who could not believe what the hostess and Bazin had successively told him; and he gazed, half stupefied, upon the three persons before him.
“Now,” continued Aramis, taking the same graceful position in his easy chair that he would have assumed in bed, and complacently examining his hand, which was as white and plump as that of a woman, and which he held in the air to cause the blood to descend, “now, as you have heard, D‘Artagnan, Monsieur the Principal is desirous that my thesis should be dogmatic, while I, for my part, would rather it should be ideal. This is the reason why Monsieur the Principal has proposed to me the following subject, which has not yet been treated upon, and in which I perceive there is matter for magnificent elaboration—
‘Utraque manus in benedicendo clericis inferioribus necessaria est.’
”
D‘Artagnan, whose erudition we are well acquainted with, evinced no more interest on hearing this quotation than he had at that of M. de Tréville in allusion to the gifts he pretended that D’Artagnan had received from the Duke of Buckingham.
“Which means,” resumed Aramis, that he might perfectly understand, “ ‘The two hands are indispensable for priests of the inferior orders, when they bestow the benediction.’ ”
“An admirable subject!” cried the Jesuit.
“Admirable and dogmatic!” repeated the curate, who, about as strong as D’Artagnan with respect to Latin, carefully watched the Jesuit in order to keep step with him, and repeated his words like an echo.
As to D’Artagnan, he remained perfectly insensible to the enthusiasm of the two men in black.
“Yes, admirable!
prorsus admirabile!”
continued Aramis; “but which requires a profound study of both the Scriptures and the Fathers. Now, I have confessed to these learned ecclesiastics, and that in all humility, that the duties of mounting guard and the service of the king have caused me to neglect study a little. I should find myself, therefore, more at my ease,
facilius natans,
in a subject of my own choice, which would be to these hard theological questions what morals are to metaphysics in philosophy.”
D’Artagnan began to be tired, and so did the curate.
“See what an exordium!” cried the Jesuit.
“Exordium,” repeated the curate, for the sake of saying something. “
Quemadmodum inter cœlorum immensitatem.”
v
Aramis cast a glance upon D’Artagnan to see what effect all this produced, and found his friend gaping enough to split his jaws.
“Let us speak French, my father,” said he to the Jesuit; “Monsieur D’Artagnan will enjoy our conversation better.”
“Yes,” replied D’Artagnan; “I am fatigued with riding, and all this Latin confuses me.”
“Certainly,” replied the Jesuit, a little put out, while the curate, greatly delighted, turned upon D’Artagnan a look full of gratitude. “Well, let us see what is to be derived from this gloss. Moses, the servant of God—he was but a servant, please to understand—Moses blessed with the hands; he held out both his arms while the Hebrews beat their enemies, and then he blessed them with his two hands. Besides, what does the Gospel say?
Imponite manus,
and not
manum
—place the
hands,
not the hand.”
“Place the
hands,
” repeated the curate, with a gesture.
“St. Peter, on the contrary, of whom the Popes are the successors,” continued the Jesuit:
“porrige digitos—
present the fingers. Are you there, now?”
“Certes,”
replied Aramis, in a pleased tone, “but the thing is subtle.”
“The
fingers,”
resumed the Jesuit, “St. Peter blessed with the fingers. The Pope, therefore, blesses with the fingers. And with how many fingers does he bless? With
three
fingers, to be sure—one for the Father, one for the Son, and one for the Holy Ghost.”
All crossed themselves. D’Artagnan thought it was proper to follow this example.
“The Pope is the successor of St. Peter, and represents the three divine powers; the rest—
ordines inferiores
—of the ecclesiastical hierarchy bless in the name of the holy archangels and angels. The most humble clerks such as our deacons and sacristans, bless with holy water sprinklers, which resemble an infinite number of blessing fingers. There is the subject simplified.
Argumentum omni denudatum ornamento.
w
I could make of that subject two volumes of the size of this,” continued the Jesuit; and in his enthusiasm he struck a St. Chrysostom in folio, which made the table bend beneath its weight.
D’Artagnan trembled.
“Certes,”
said Aramis, “I do justice to the beauties of this thesis; but at the same time I perceive it would be overwhelming for me. I had chosen this text—tell me, dear D‘Artagnan, if it is not to your taste—
‘Non inutile est desiderium
in
oblatione’;
that is, ‘A little regret is not unsuitable in an offering to the Lord.’ ”
“Stop there!” cried the Jesuit, “for that thesis touches closely upon heresy. There is a proposition almost like it in the
Augustinus
of the heresiarch Jansenius, whose book will sooner or later be burned by the hands of the executioner.
21
Take care, my young friend. You are inclining toward false doctrines, my young friend; you will be lost.”
“You will be lost,” said the curate, shaking his head sorrowfully.
“You approach that famous point of free will which is a mortal rock. You face the insinuations of the Pelagians and the demi-Pelagians. ”22
“But, my Reverend—” replied Aramis, a little amazed by the shower of arguments that poured upon his head.
“How will you prove,” continued the Jesuit, without allowing him time to speak, “that we ought to regret the world when we offer ourselves to God? Listen to this dilemma: God is God, and the world is the devil. To regret the world is to regret the devil; that is my conclusion.”
“And that is mine also,” said the curate.
“But, for heaven’s sake—” resumed Aramis.
“Desideras diabolum,
unhappy man!” cried the Jesuit.
“He regrets the devil! Ah, my young friend,” added the curate, groaning, “do not regret the devil, I implore you!”
D’Artagnan felt himself bewildered. It seemed to him as though he were in a madhouse, and was becoming as mad as those he saw. He was, however, forced to hold his tongue from not comprehending half the language they employed.
“But listen to me, then,” resumed Aramis with politeness mingled with a little impatience. “I do not say I regret; no, I will never pronounce that sentence, which would not be orthodox.”
The Jesuit raised his hands toward heaven, and the curate did the same.
“No; but pray grant me that it is acting with an ill grace to offer to the Lord only that with which we are perfectly disgusted! Don’t you think so, D’Artagnan?”
“I think so, indeed,” cried he.
The Jesuit and the curate quite started from their chairs. “This is the point of departure; it is a syllogism. The world is not wanting in attractions. I quit the world; then I make a sacrifice. Now, the Scripture says positively, ‘Make a sacrifice unto the Lord.’ ”
“That is true,” said his antagonists.
“And then,” said Aramis, pinching his ear to make it red, as he rubbed his hands to make them white, “and then I made a certain
rondeau
upon it last year, which I showed to Monsieur Voiture, and that great man paid me a thousand handsome compliments.”
“A
rondeau!”
said the Jesuit, disdainfully.
“A
rondeau!”
said the curate, mechanically.
“Repeat it! repeat it! ”cried D’Artagnan; “it will make a little change.”
“Not so, for it is religious,” replied Aramis; “it is theology in verse.”
“The devil!” said D’Artagnan.
“Here it is,” said Aramis, with a little look of diffidence, which, however, was not exempt from a shade of hypocrisy:
“Vous qui pleurez un passé plein de charmes,
Et qui trainez des jours infortunés,
Tous vos malheurs se verront terminés,
Quand à Dieu seul vous offrirez vos larmes,
Vous qui pleurez!”
“You who weep for pleasures fled,
While dragging on a life of care,
All your woes will melt in air,
If to God your tears are shed,
You who weep!”
D‘Artagnan and the curate appeared pleased. The Jesuit persisted in his opinion. “Beware of a profane taste in your theological style. What says Augustine on this subject: “ ‘
Severus sit clericorum verbo.
’ ”
“Yes, let the sermon be clear,” said the curate.
“Now,” hastily interrupted the Jesuit, on seeing that his acolyte was going astray, “now your thesis would please the ladies; it would have the success of one of Monsieur Patru’s pleadings. ”
“Please God!” cried Aramis, transported.
“There it is,” cried the Jesuit; “the world still speaks within you in a loud voice,
altissimâ voce.
You follow the world, my young friend, and I tremble lest grace prove not efficacious.”
“Be satisfied, my reverend father, I can answer for myself.”
“Mundane presumption!”
“I know myself, Father; my resolution is irrevocable.”
“Then you persist in continuing that thesis?”
“I feel myself called upon to treat that, and no other. I will see about the continuation of it, and tomorrow I hope you will be satisfied with the corrections I shall have made in consequence of your advice.”
“Work slowly,” said the curate; “we leave you in an excellent tone of mind.”
“Yes, the ground is all sown,” said the Jesuit, “and we have not to fear that one portion of the seed may have fallen upon stone, another upon the highway, or that the birds of heaven have eaten the rest,
aves cœli comederunt illam.
”
“Plague stifle you and your Latin!” said D’Artagnan, who began to feel all his patience exhausted.
“Farewell, my son,” said the curate, “till tomorrow.”