Voltaire built the church for the use of his servants and tenantry. The Bishop refused to consecrate it, and Voltaire created a Bishopric of Ferney. The priest was paid by him and was often one of the château-guests. Upon Sabbath mornings, it was the master’s habit to march into church, attended by visitors and retainers, and engage, with outward decorum, in the service. Religious ceremonies were a necessity for the vulgar and ignorant, as were amusements. He provided for both needs on the same principle.
The building is of stone, with sloping roof and two shed-like wings joined to the central part. A small clock-tower is capped by a weather-cock. There is but one door, now partly boarded up. Over this is a single large window with a Norman arch. It was a perfect October afternoon, dreamy and soft. Chestnuts and limes were yet in full leaf; the garden was gay with flowers untouched by a breath of frost. I had my turfy bank all to myself for half an hour, and in the stillness, could hear the hum of the bees in the red and white clover of the meadow behind me, the voices of men and women in the vineyard, three fields away. It was the vintage-season and they were having rare weather for it. Heavy steps grated upon the road; were checked so near me that I looked up. The intruder was a peasant in faded blue shirt and trowsers, a leather belt, a torn straw hat and wooden shoes, and carried a scythe upon his shoulder. A son of the soil, who grinned and touched his hat when I saw him.
“Pardon, madame!”
I nodded and went on with my work. He stood as still as the church,—an indigo shadow between me and the sky. I glanced at him again, this time, inquiringly.
“Pardon, madame!”
He was respectful, and had he been rude, I could call through the gate to my friends who were walking in the grounds. There was nothing to alarm me in his proximity, but a certain annoyance at his oversight of my occupation.
“Are you one of the laborers on the estate?” asked I, coldly.
“Madame is right. I am the farm-servant of M. David.”
Who, it was so evident, did not suspect that he was impolite in watching me that I forgave him.