الفصل الفصل 28 · A PROCESSION

. A PROCESSION

All hearts were moved. The presence of God seemed to

have descended into these narrow Gothic streets that

stretched in every direction, and were sanded by the

care of the faithful.--_Young_.

It was in vain that Julien pretended to be petty and stupid. He could

not please; he was too different. Yet all these professors, he said to

himself, are very clever people, men in a thousand. Why do they not

like my humility? Only one seemed to take advantage of his readiness

to believe everything, and apparently to swallow everything. This was

the abbé Chas-Bernard, the director of the ceremonies of the cathedral,

where, for the last fifteen years, he had been given occasion to hope

for a canonry. While waiting, he taught homiletics at the seminary.

During the period of Julien's blindness, this class was one of those in

which he most frequently came out top. The abbé Chas had used this as

an opportunity to manifest some friendship to him, and when the class

broke up, he would be glad to take him by the arm for some turns in the

garden.

"What is he getting at," Julien would say to himself. He noticed

with astonishment that, for hours on end, the abbé would talk to him

about the ornaments possessed by the cathedral. It had seventeen lace

chasubles, besides the mourning vestments. A lot was hoped from the old

wife of the judge de Rubempré. This lady, who was ninety years of age,

had kept for at least seventy years her wedding dress of superb Lyons

material, embroidered with gold.

"Imagine, my friend," the abbé Chas would say, stopping abruptly, and

staring with amazement, "that this material keeps quite stiff. There

is so much gold in it. It is generally thought in Besançon that the

will of the judge's wife will result in the cathedral treasure being

increased by more than ten chasubles, without counting four or five

capes for the great feast. I will go further," said the abbé Chas,

lowering his voice, "I have reasons for thinking the judge's wife will

leave us her magnificent silver gilt candlesticks, supposed to have

been bought in Italy by Charles the Bold, Duke of Burgundy, whose

favourite minister was one of the good lady's ancestors."

"But what is the fellow getting at with all this old clothes business,"

thought Julien. "These adroit preliminaries have been going on for

centuries, and nothing comes of them. He must be very suspicious of me.

He is cleverer than all the others, whose secret aim can be guessed so

easily in a fortnight. I understand. He must have been suffering for

fifteen years from mortified ambition."

Julien was summoned one evening in the middle of the fencing lesson to

the abbé Pirard, who said to him.

"To-morrow is the feast of Corpus Domini (the Fête Dieu) the abbé

Chas-Bernard needs you to help him to decorate the cathedral. Go and

obey." The abbé Pirard called him back and added sympathetically. "It

depends on you whether you will utilise the occasion to go into the

town."

"Incedo per ignes," answered Julien. (I have secret enemies).

Julien went to the cathedral next morning with downcast eyes. The sight

of the streets and the activity which was beginning to prevail in the

town did him good. In all quarters they were extending the fronts of

the houses for the procession.

All the time that he had passed in the seminary seemed to him no more

than a moment. His thoughts were of Vergy, and of the pretty Amanda

whom he might perhaps meet, for her café was not very far off. He saw

in the distance the abbé Chas-Bernard on the threshold of his beloved

cathedral. He was a big man with a jovial face and a frank air. To-day

he looked triumphant. "I was expecting you, my dear son," he cried as

soon as he saw Julien in the distance. "Be welcome. This day's duty

will be protracted and arduous. Let us fortify ourselves by a first

breakfast. We will have the second at ten o'clock during high mass."

"I do not wish, sir," said Julien to him gravely, "to be alone for a

single instant. Deign to observe," he added, showing him the clock over

their heads, "that I have arrived at one minute to five."

"So those little rascals at the seminary frightened you. It is very

good of you to think of them," said the abbé. "But is the road less

beautiful because there are thorns in the hedges which border it.

Travellers go on their way, and leave the wicked thorns to wait in vain

where they are. And now to work my dear friend, to work."

The abbé Chas was right in saying that the task would be arduous. There

had been a great funeral ceremony at the cathedral the previous day.

They had not been able to make any preparations. They had consequently

only one morning for dressing all the Gothic pillars which constitute

the three naves with a kind of red damask cloth ascending to a height

of thirty feet. The Bishop had fetched by mail four decorators from

Paris, but these gentry were not able to do everything, and far from

giving any encouragement to the clumsiness of the Besançon colleagues,

they made it twice as great by making fun of them.

Julien saw that he would have to climb the ladder himself. His agility

served him in good stead. He undertook the direction of the decorators

from town. The Abbé Chas was delighted as he watched him flit from

ladder to ladder. When all the pillars were dressed in damask, five

enormous bouquets of feathers had to be placed on the great baldachin

above the grand altar. A rich coping of gilded wood was supported by

eight big straight columns of Italian marble, but to reach the centre

of the baldachin above the tabernacle involved walking over an old

wooden cornice which was forty feet high and possibly worm-eaten.

The sight of this difficult crossing had extinguished the gaiety of the

Parisian decorators, which up till then had been so brilliant. They

looked at it from down below, argued a great deal, but did not go up.

Julien seized hold of the bouquets of feathers and climbed the ladder

at a run. He placed it neatly on the crown-shaped ornament in the

centre of the baldachin. When he came down the ladder again, the abbé

Chas-Bernard embraced him in his arms.

"Optime" exclaimed the good priest, "I will tell this to Monseigneur."

Breakfast at ten o'clock was very gay. The abbé Chas had never seen his

church look so beautiful.

"Dear disciple," he said to Julien. "My mother used to let out chairs

in this venerable building, so I have been brought up in this great

edifice. The Terror of Robespierre ruined us, but when I was eight

years old, that was my age then, I used to serve masses in private

houses, so you see I got my meals on mass-days. Nobody could fold a

chasuble better than I could, and I never cut the fringes. After the

re-establishment of public worship by Napoleon, I had the good fortune

to direct everything in this venerable metropolis. Five times a year do

my eyes see it adorned with these fine ornaments. But it has never been

so resplendent, and the damask breadths have never been so well tied or

so close to the pillars as they are to-day."

"So he is going to tell me his secret at last," said Julien. "Now he is

going to talk about himself. He is expanding." But nothing imprudent

was said by the man in spite of his evident exaltation.

"All the same he has worked a great deal," said Julien to himself.

"He is happy. What a man! What an example for me! He really takes the

cake." (This was a vulgar phrase which he had learned from the old

surgeon).

As the sanctus of high mass sounded, Julien wanted to take a surplice

to follow the bishop in the superb procession. "And the thieves, my

friend! And the thieves," exclaimed the abbé Chas. "Have you forgotten

them? The procession will go out, but we will watch, will you and I.

We shall be very lucky if we get off with the loss of a couple of ells

of this fine lace which surrounds the base of the pillars. It is a

gift of Madame de Rubempré. It comes from her great-grandfather the

famous Count. It is made of real gold, my friend," added the abbé in

a whisper, and with evident exaltation. "And all genuine. I entrust

you with the watching of the north wing. Do not leave it. I will keep

the south wing and the great nave for myself. Keep an eye on the

confessional. It is there that the women accomplices of the thieves

always spy. Look out for the moment when we turn our backs."

As he finished speaking, a quarter to twelve struck. Immediately

afterwards the sound of the great clock was heard. It rang a full peal.

These full solemn sounds affected Julien. His imagination was no longer

turned to things earthly. The perfume of the incense and of the rose

leaves thrown before the holy sacrament by little children disguised as

St. John increased his exaltation.

Logically the grave sounds of the bell should only have recalled to

Julien's mind the thought of the labour of twenty men paid fifty-four

centimes each, and possibly helped by fifteen or twenty faithful souls.

Logically, he ought to have thought of the wear and tear of the cords

and of the framework and of the danger of the clock itself, which

falls down every two centuries, and to have considered the means of

diminishing the salary of the bell-ringers, or of paying them by some

indulgence or other grace dispensed from the treasures of the Church

without diminishing its purse.

Julien's soul exalted by these sounds with all their virile fulness,

instead of making these wise reflections, wandered in the realm

of imagination. He will never turn out a good priest or a good

administrator. Souls which get thrilled so easily are at the best

only capable of producing an artist. At this moment the presumption

of Julien bursts out into full view. Perhaps fifty of his comrades

in the seminary made attentive to the realities of life by their own

unpopularity and the Jacobinism which they are taught to see hiding

behind every hedge, would have had no other thought suggested by the

great bell of the cathedral except the wages of the ringers. They would

have analysed with the genius of Bareme whether the intensity of the

emotion produced among the public was worth the money which was given

to the ringers. If Julien had only tried to think of the material

interests of the cathedral, his imagination would have transcended its

actual object and thought of economizing forty francs on the fabric

and have lost the opportunity of avoiding an expense of twenty-five

centimes.

While the procession slowly traversed Besançon on the finest day

imaginable, and stopped at the brilliant altar-stations put up by the

authorities, the church remained in profound silence. There prevailed a

semi-obscurity, an agreeable freshness. It was still perfumed with the

fragrance of flowers and incense.

The silence, the deep solitude, the freshness of the long naves

sweetened Julien's reverie. He did not fear being troubled by the

abbé Chas, who was engaged in another part of the building. His soul

had almost abandoned its mortal tenement, which was pacing slowly the

north wing which had been trusted to his surveillance. He was all the

more tranquil when he had assured himself that there was no one in the

confessional except some devout women. His eyes looked in front of him

seeing nothing.

His reverie was almost broken by the sight of two well-dressed women,

one in the Confessional, and the other on a chair quite near her. He

looked without seeing, but noticed, however, either by reason of some

vague appreciation of his duties or admiration for the aristocratic

but simple dress of the ladies, that there was no priest in the

Confessional.

"It is singular," he thought, "that if these fair ladies are devout,

they are not kneeling before some altar, or that if they are in society

they have not an advantageous position in the first row of some

balcony. How well cut that dress is! How graceful!"

He slackened his pace to try and look at them. The lady who was

kneeling in the Confessional turned her head a little hearing the noise

of Julien's step in this solemn place. Suddenly she gave a loud cry,

and felt ill.

As the lady collapsed and fell backwards on her knees, her friend who

was near her hastened to help her. At the same time Julien saw the

shoulders of the lady who was falling backwards. His eyes were struck

by a twisted necklace of fine, big pearls, which he knew well. What

were his emotions when he recognised the hair of Madame de Rênal? It

was she! The lady who was trying to prevent her from falling was Madame

Derville. Julien was beside himself and hastened to their side. Madame

de Rênal's fall would perhaps have carried her friend along with her,

if Julien had not supported them. He saw the head of Madame de Rênal,

pale and entirely devoid of consciousness floating on his shoulder. He

helped Madame Derville to lean that charming head up against a straw

chair. He knelt down.

Madame Derville turned round and recognised him.

"Away, monsieur, away!" she said to him, in a tone of the most lively

anger. "Above all, do not let her see you again. The sight of you would

be sure to horrify her. She was so happy before you came. Your conduct

is atrocious. Flee! Take yourself off if you have any shame left."

These words were spoken with so much authority, and Julien felt so

weak, that he did take himself off. "She always hated me," he said to

himself, thinking of Madame Derville. At the same moment the nasal

chanting of the first priests in the procession which was now coming

back resounded in the church. The abbé Chas-Bernard called Julien, who

at first did not hear him, several times. He came at last and took his

arm behind a pillar where Julien had taken refuge more dead than alive.

He wanted to present him to the Bishop.

"Are you feeling well, my child?" said the abbé to him, seeing him so

pale, and almost incapable of walking. "You have worked too much." The

abbé gave him his arm. "Come, sit down behind me here, on the little

seat of the dispenser of holy water; I will hide you."

They were now beside the main door.

"Calm yourself. We have still a good twenty minutes before Monseigneur

appears. Try and pull yourself together. I will lift you up when he

passes, for in spite of my age, I am strong and vigorous."

Julien was trembling so violently when the Bishop passed, that the abbé

Chas gave up the idea of presenting him.

"Do not take it too much to heart," he said. "I will find another

opportunity."

The same evening he had six pounds of candles which had been saved, he

said, by Julien's carefulness, and by the promptness with which he had

extinguished them, carried to the seminary chapel. Nothing could have

been nearer the truth. The poor boy was extinguished himself. He had

not had a single thought after meeting Madame de Rênal.