It was now Paillard’s turn to be angry, because, as he said, he could not suffer any one to apply the term Huguenot to him; he declared he was a loyal Frenchman and son of the Church, and had a good head on his shoulders too, so that he could see through a millstone as well as the next man; that he knew a fool when he saw him, and Chamaille was three parts a fool or three fools in one, just as he pleased; and he added that since God is the fountain of light and reason, if we would respect God, we should respect our own reason also.
After this silence settled down, except for an occasional grunt as they sat back to back at the table, finishing their bottle.—I burst out laughing, and they noticed then for the first time that I had taken no part in the dispute, though I had followed the whole argument with delight, and caught myself imitating the motions of their lips, frowning when they frowned, and moving my features like a rabbit eating a cabbage leaf. Now they both appealed to me to know on which side I was.
“I agree with both of you,” said I, “and not with you alone: let us thresh this thing out together. Folly leads to laughter, and laughter to wisdom;—when you want to estimate your possessions what do you do? You begin naturally by writing down your column of figures, and then you add them up. Now why not pursue the same method with any crotchets you may have in your head? Add them all together and the sum may be a truth, though truth is hard to seize, and mocks at those who would lay hands on her; still there is more than one answer to the riddle of the world, my children. We only see one side of the shield, so I am for all gods, pagan and Christian alike, and for the god of reason first and foremost.”
This lucid exposition had no better result than to unite both the others in an onslaught on me, and what they called my pagan and atheistic opinions. “Atheist!” cried I, “and why not? my door is open to all comers; gods and laws of every degree are welcome. I reverence God, and worship His saints, and love to gossip and laugh with such as are good company, but to tell you the plain truth, one god is not quite enough for a man as greedy as I am, so I have saints and saintesses, fairies and spirits of the earth, air, and water. I believe in reason, but I believe also in folly, from which truth sometimes springs. If I have faith in sorcery, I like also to think of this earth hanging in the clouds, and I should love to have my fingers on all the springs that move the world.—What joy to listen to the bright-eyed planets, and watch the man in the moon.—‘Silly talk!’ say you, who are all for rule and order, but let me tell you, these things are to be had at a price only, and a high one. To be orderly means not to follow one’s own will, but that of others; it means to cut down the tall trees that the highroad may run straight;—convenient if you will, but ugly as the devil. No, mine are the old Gallic ideas,—many chiefs and a strong law, but every man for himself, and all brothers. Believe as you choose, but leave me to my belief, and the worship of my reason. Above all, let the gods alone; they are everywhere, in the heavens and in the waters under the earth; the world teems with them, and I not only respect those I know, but I am willing to accept new ones; only no one shall take from me one I have already known, unless he has deceived me.”
Paillard and the vicar looked at me with positive compassion, and asked how I expected to get through the world with my head in such a tangle.
“There is no difficulty as to that,” I assured them. “I know just where to put my feet. Do you think I need to take the highroad from Clamecy to Vézelay when I can cut through the woods? I find my way blindfold through little bypaths, it takes rather longer perhaps, but I pick up something for my game-bag. In my world everything is in its place: God in His Heaven, the saints in their chapels, out of doors the fairies, and my good brains in my head, so it all works smoothly; to each his proper task, with no despotic king to rule over us. It is more like a confederation of allied cantons, some strong and others weak; but in case of necessity the little ones band together, and who will get the upper hand then? Of course the Lord is mightier than any fairy, but it is another pair of shoes when a swarm of fairies make common cause against Him. The biter, you know, is sometimes bit. You think me crazy I know, but it sticks in my head that the head God of all is yet to be seen, for He is above everything; far, far away like our good King; we know his stewards and lieutenants only too well, but he is invisible in his palace,—so the sovereign to whom we bow is one Concini. Now, Chamaille, don’t look at me like that, if you like it better, we will say that the Duke of Nevers is our ruler just now. Blessings on his head! I admire and respect him, but when he of the Louvre raises his voice our Duke is silent, and a good thing too!”
“I wish it were good,” said Paillard, “but as the proverb says, when the sun is hid, you see the stars, and since the death of our lamented Henry, the whole kingdom is under petticoat government, princes and all; you know who profits by the sport of nobles; there are plenty to dip their fingers in the bag of gold, (the price of future triumphs,) that Sully has laid up there in the Arsenal. How long, O Lord? before these thieves are brought to justice!”
This was the signal for us to break out and talk with the utmost imprudence; for we had now hit on a tune which we could all sing, and we did sing it with variations on princes, hypocrites, lazy monks, and fat prelates. It is only fair to Chamaille to say that his improvisations on this theme were by far the most brilliant; but the trio continued in most melodious measure to chant of bitter and sweet, of those who have too much faith, and those who have none; fanatics, Huguenots, bigots, and fools who think that they can put the fear of God into a man by a dagger thrust or a blow on the head. As if we were donkeys to be driven with a stick along the heavenly way! Damnation should be free to all who desire it, but let them burn in a future state without tormenting them here on earth, and meanwhile leave us in peace, each to act as seems good in his own eyes. We are told that Christ died for men; for the infidel, as well as the Christian, and in truth are we not all poor creatures, as like as peas in a pod, neither better nor worse? What place, then, should pride and cruelty have among us?
Somewhat fatigued by all this conversation, we then resumed the worship of Bacchus, the only god respected by all three; even Chamaille declared that all the monks and sermons in the world could not turn him from this allegiance, for Bacchus is everywhere acknowledged as of true French lineage, and a real Christian. Are there not old pictures where our Saviour is represented treading the winepress under His feet? “Let us drink then, my friends, to our smiling god, whose red blood warms our hillsides and vineyards, rejoices our hearts, loosens our tongues, and breathes his right generous spirit over our France, filling her with the elixir of life.”
Just here we stopped to take breath, and drink to France and common sense; for her motto is always to avoid extremes, if you would be wise; sometimes, it is true, one falls between two stools. All at once we heard a great banging of doors and heavy steps on the stairs, mingled with portentous puffings and appeals to all the saints in the calendar, and Mistress Louisa, the vicar’s housekeeper, made her appearance, wiping her fat red face with a corner of her apron. “Oh! Master, you are wanted at once! Come and help us.”