LXIV.
THE TWO AUGURS.
"I am surprised that two augurs can look at one another without laughing."
CATO.
—Ave Marcellus! said the old Curé, giving his nephew a paternal embrace; how are you, my poor boy?
—I am very well, replied Marcel.
—No! your servant has told me that you have been unwell for some time.
—She is really too kind. You have been talking to her then?
—Yes, while waiting for you. She seems to me a worthy and intelligent person, but a little irritated with you. Do you live badly together?
Marcel coloured.
—Come, the blush of holy modesty is covering your face. Don't do so, child, don't we all know what it is, my dear fellow?
—Indeed, much you ought to know what these women are. They are cross-grained and stubborn, and claim to be the mistresses of the house, especially with priests younger than themselves.
—That is the inconvenience of our condition, Monsieur le Curé. What will you? We must pass it over. But, tell me, she is not so old as that. Ah, come, the maiden's blush again! I do not want to offend your virtuous feelings any longer, and I am going to talk to you about something else. You know I have centred all my ambition on you, that I occupy myself about you only, and that together with my saint and my salvation, you are the sole object of my care. Therefore, you can explain my indignation and wrath at seeing my pupil buried in this frightful village, at seeing you extinguishing your brilliant qualities, having no other stimulant for your intellect than your Sunday sermons and your stupid peasants, no other emotion than your disputes with your cook. I have therefore asked of the Lord one thing only, only one. Unam petii a Domino, hanc requiram. You know what it is—your promotion. Well, Monsieur le Curé. I come to tell you that everything is going as it were on wheels.
—Really? said Marcel indifferently.
—Just think. The day before yesterday a letter reached me from the Palace.
It was Monseigneur's secretary, little Gaudinet, who wrote to me. You know
Gaudinet?
—No, uncle.
He is not a bad fellow, but a devil to intrigue. Well, as he knows the interest I take in you, and as he wants to creep up my sleeve, because he hopes soon to take the place of one of my curates, he wrote to me that Monseigneur had spoken of you with interest, and that he proposed to put an end to your exile. I recognize there the Comtesse de Montluisant's good offices. You see that she has lost no time, and so we will do the same; we most strike the iron while it is hot; you are going to get your bag and baggage, and take yourself off to Nancy.
—Already?
—Why already? Have you any business here which detains you then?
—Nothing … absolutely nothing; but what shall I do at Nancy?
—That is just why I have come, you impatient young man, to point out to you what line of conduct to follow, and, as I know, you are rather more scrupulous than there is any need for in our profession, to assist you in removing certain scruples which might stand in the way of your promotion.
—Heavens! What scruples?
—We will talk about them at table. Meanwhile, this is the question. I have told you that I will move heaven and earth for you; you, however, must help me a little on your side, for whatever I may do, I can effect nothing without you. In his letter, Gaudinet informs me that the parish of St. Mary, Nancy, is deprived of its pastor. It came into my head directly that you must take the place of the defunct. It is an excellent parish, very prominent, splendid surplice fees, devout ladies, sisters, elderly spinsters to plunge into saintly jubilation, a host of Capuchins, everything indeed which constitutes a blessing from heaven for a poor priest. You are young, you are handsome, you are intelligent, you are energetic; while you are waiting for something better, I promise you an existence there, of which the most ambitions of village Curés has never dared to dream. But we most hasten, time presses; Gaudinet tells me that there are already at least a dozen candidates in earnest; and although old Collard's intentions (and he intends to atone for his former injustice) regarding you are favourable, you are well aware that he allows himself to be led by the nose, and generally the last one who talks to him is right. You must be then both the first and the last, and you must not let him slip; not you, but your second, your aide-de-camp, your fideicommissum, or rather your protectress, the Comtesse de Montluisant.
—But I do not know this lady.
—It is precisely for that reason that it is indispensable for you to hasten to go and see her, in order to make her acquaintance. You have only to present yourself, and I assure you even if you were not sent by me, she would receive you with the greatest pleasure. For, between ourselves be it said, she is an elderly coquette, but she is good-natured and knows how to remember her old friends. You will have therefore to be amiable, insinuating, respectful, assiduous. You might even tell her that she is charming, and that one sees she has been very pretty; which is true. Old ladies dote on young people, and devout old ladies on young priests, especially on those with a figure and face like yours. "The face is everywhere the first letter of introduction," said Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, and I assure that with Madame de Montluisant, you will not require another. Ah, the Comtesse de Montluisant, my friend, there is a precious soul! What a misfortune that she is a little over-ripe! It is all the same to you, and if you are wise, you will pass over that defect, which she amply atones for by her amiable qualities. She has the complete mastery of Monseigneur. She is the Maintenon of that old Louis XIV. Be to her what she is to him, and have the mastery of her in your turn. I was talking to you a little while ago about scruples; for once you must leave them at home or put them in the bottom of your cassock. Dixi! You have understood me I hope.
—No, uncle, I don't understand you.
—Are you talking seriously?
—I declare, uncle, that I don't understand you.
—O rara avis in terris, oh phoenix! oh pearl! you don't understand me!!! Well, I am come expressly, however, to make myself understood. Must I put the dots on the i's for you? You don't understand me, you say? Surely, you are making fun of me. Come, look me straight in the face; in the white of my eyes … yes, like that, and dare to tell me that you have not understood me, and keep serious. Ah, ah, you are laughing, you are laughing. You see you cannot look at me without laughing.