Bab Bab 18 · A KING AT VERRIÈRES

. A KING AT VERRIÈRES

Do you not deserve to be thrown aside like a plebeian

corpse which has no soul and whose blood flows no

longer in its veins.

_Sermon of the Bishop at the Chapel of Saint Clement_.

On the 3rd of September at ten o'clock in the evening, a gendarme woke

up the whole of Verrières by galloping up the main street. He brought

the news that His Majesty the King of ---- would arrive the following

Sunday, and it was already Tuesday. The prefect authorised, that is to

say, demanded the forming of a guard of honour. They were to exhibit

all possible pomp. An express messenger was sent to Vergy. M. de Rênal

arrived during the night and found the town in a commotion. Each

individual had his own pretensions; those who were less busy hired

balconies to see the King.

Who was to command the Guard of Honour? M. de Rênal at once realised

how essential it was in the interests of the houses liable to have

their frontage put back that M. de Moirod should have the command.

That might entitle him to the post of first deputy-mayor. There was

nothing to say against the devoutness of M. de Moirod. It brooked

no comparison, but he had never sat on a horse. He was a man of

thirty-six, timid in every way, and equally frightened of falling and

of looking ridiculous. The mayor had summoned him as early as five

o'clock in the morning.

"You see, monsieur, I ask your advice, as though you already occupy

that post to which all the people on the right side want to carry you.

In this unhappy town, manufacturers are prospering, the Liberal party

is becoming possessed of millions, it aspires to power; it will manage

to exploit everything to its own ends. Let us consult the interests of

the king, the interest of the monarchy, and above all, the interest of

our holy religion. Who do you think, monsieur, could be entrusted with

the command of the guard of honour?"

In spite of the terrible fear with which horses inspired him, M. de

Moirod finished by accepting this honour like a martyr. "I shall know

how to take the right tone," he said to the mayor. There was scarcely

time enough to get ready the uniforms which had served seven years ago

on the occasion of the passage of a prince of the blood.

At seven o'clock, Madame de Rênal arrived at Vergy with Julien and

the children. She found her drawing room filled with Liberal ladies

who preached the union of all parties and had come to beg her to urge

her husband to grant a place to theirs in the guard of honour. One of

them actually asserted that if her husband was not chosen he would go

bankrupt out of chagrin. Madame de Rênal quickly got rid of all these

people. She seemed very engrossed.

Julien was astonished, and what was more, angry that she should make

a mystery of what was disturbing her, "I had anticipated it," he said

bitterly to himself. "Her love is being over-shadowed by the happiness

of receiving a King in her house. All this hubbub overcomes her. She

will love me once more when the ideas of her caste no longer trouble

her brain."

An astonishing fact, he only loved her the more.

The decorators began to fill the house. He watched a long time for the

opportunity to exchange a few words. He eventually found her as she was

coming out of his own room, carrying one of his suits. They were alone.

He tried to speak to her. She ran away, refusing to listen to him. "I

am an absolute fool to love a woman like that, whose ambition renders

her as mad as her husband."

She was madder. One of her great wishes which she had never confessed

to Julien for fear of shocking him, was to see him leave off, if only

for one day, his gloomy black suit. With an adroitness which was truly

admirable in so ingenuous a woman, she secured first from M. de Moirod,

and subsequently, from M. the sub-perfect de Maugiron, an assurance

that Julien should be nominated a guard of honour in preference to five

or six young people, the sons of very well-off manufacturers, of whom

two at least, were models of piety. M. de Valenod, who reckoned on

lending his carriage to the prettiest women in the town, and on showing

off his fine Norman steeds, consented to let Julien (the being he hated

most in the whole world) have one of his horses. But all the guards of

honour, either possessed or had borrowed, one of those pretty sky-blue

uniforms, with two silver colonel epaulettes, which had shone seven

years ago. Madame de Rênal wanted a new uniform, and she only had four

days in which to send to Besançon and get from there the uniform, the

arms, the hat, etc., everything necessary for a Guard of Honour. The

most delightful part of it was that she thought it imprudent to get

Julien's uniform made at Verrières. She wanted to surprise both him and

the town.

Having settled the questions of the guards of honour, and of the public

welcome finished, the mayor had now to organise a great religious

ceremony. The King of ---- did not wish to pass through Verrières

without visiting the famous relic of St. Clement, which is kept at

Bray-le-Haut barely a league from the town. The authorities wanted

to have a numerous attendance of the clergy, but this matter was the

most difficult to arrange. M. Maslon, the new curé, wanted to avoid at

any price the presence of M. Chélan. It was in vain that M. de Rênal

tried to represent to him that it would be imprudent to do so. M. the

Marquis de La Mole whose ancestors had been governors of the province

for so many generations, had been chosen to accompany the King of ----.

He had known the abbé Chélan for thirty years. He would certainly ask

news of him when he arrived at Verrières, and if he found him disgraced

he was the very man to go and route him out in the little house to

which he had retired, accompanied by all the escort that he had at his

disposition. What a rebuff that would be?

"I shall be disgraced both here and at Besançon," answered the abbé

Maslon, "if he appears among my clergy. A Jansenist, by the Lord."

"Whatever you can say, my dear abbé," replied M. de Rênal, "I'll never

expose the administration of Verrières to receiving such an affront

from M. de la Mole. You do not know him. He is orthodox enough at

Court, but here in the provinces, he is a satirical wit and cynic,

whose only object is to make people uncomfortable. He is capable of

covering us with ridicule in the eyes of the Liberals, simply in order

to amuse himself."

It was only on the night between the Saturday and the Sunday, after

three whole days of negotiations that the pride of the abbé Maslon bent

before the fear of the mayor, which was now changing into courage. It

was necessary to write a honeyed letter to the abbé Chélan, begging

him to be present at the ceremony in connection with the relic of

Bray-le-Haut, if of course, his great age and his infirmity allowed him

to do so. M. Chélan asked for and obtained a letter of invitation for

Julien, who was to accompany him as his sub-deacon.

From the beginning of the Sunday morning, thousands of peasants began

to arrive from the neighbouring mountains, and to inundate the streets

of Verrières. It was the finest sunshine. Finally, about three o'clock,

a thrill swept through all this crowd. A great fire had been perceived

on a rock two leagues from Verrières. This signal announced that the

king had just entered the territory of the department. At the same

time, the sound of all the bells and the repeated volleys from an old

Spanish cannon which belonged to the town, testified to its joy at

this great event. Half the population climbed on to the roofs. All the

women were on the balconies. The guard of honour started to march, The

brilliant uniforms were universally admired; everybody recognised a

relative or a friend. They made fun of the timidity of M. de Moirod,

whose prudent hand was ready every single minute to catch hold of his

saddle-bow. But one remark resulted in all the others being forgotten;

the first cavalier in the ninth line was a very pretty, slim boy, who

was not recognised at first. He soon created a general sensation, as

some uttered a cry of indignation, and others were dumbfounded with

astonishment. They recognised in this young man, who was sitting one

of the Norman horses of M. Valenod, little Sorel, the carpenter's son.

There was a unanimous out-cry against the mayor, above all on the part

of the Liberals. What, because this little labourer, who masqueraded as

an abbé, was tutor to his brats, he had the audacity to nominate him

guard of honour to the prejudice of rich manufacturers like so-and-so

and so-and-so! "Those gentlemen," said a banker's wife, "ought to put

that insolent gutter-boy in his proper place."

"He is cunning and carries a sabre," answered her neighbour. "He would

be dastardly enough to slash them in the face."

The conversation of aristocratic society was more dangerous. The ladies

began to ask each other if the mayor alone was responsible for this

grave impropriety. Speaking generally, they did justice to his contempt

for lack of birth.

Julien was the happiest of men, while he was the subject of so much

conversation. Bold by nature, he sat a horse better than the majority

of the young men of this mountain town. He saw that, in the eyes of the

women, he was the topic of interest.

His epaulettes were more brilliant than those of the others, because

they were new. His horse pranced at every moment. He reached the zenith

of joy.

His happiness was unbounded when, as they passed by the old rampart,

the noise of the little cannon made his horse prance outside the line.

By a great piece of luck he did not fall; from that moment he felt

himself a hero. He was one of Napoleon's officers of artillery, and was

charging a battery.

One person was happier than he. She had first seen him pass from one

of the folding windows in the Hôtel de Ville. Then taking her carriage

and rapidly making a long detour, she arrived in time to shudder when

his horse took him outside the line. Finally she put her carriage to

the gallop, left by another gate of the town, succeeded in rejoining

the route by which the King was to pass, and was able to follow the

Guard of Honour at twenty paces distance in the midst of a noble dust.

Six thousand peasants cried "Long live the King," when the mayor had

the honour to harangue his Majesty. An hour afterwards, when all the

speeches had been listened to, and the King was going to enter the

town, the little cannon began again to discharge its spasmodic volleys.

But an accident ensued, the victim being, not one of the cannoneers who

had proved their mettle at Leipsic and at Montreuil, but the future

deputy-mayor, M. de Moirod. His horse gently laid him in the one heap

of mud on the high road, a somewhat scandalous circumstance, inasmuch

as it was necessary to extricate him to allow the King to pass. His

Majesty alighted at the fine new church, which was decked out to-day

with all its crimson curtains. The King was due to dine, and then

afterwards take his carriage again and go and pay his respects to the

celebrated relic of Saint Clement. Scarcely was the King in the church

than Julien galloped towards the house of M. de Rênal. Once there

he doffed with a sigh his fine sky-blue uniform, his sabre and his

epaulettes, to put on again his shabby little black suit. He mounted

his horse again, and in a few moments was at Bray-le-Haut, which was

on the summit of a very pretty hill. "Enthusiasm is responsible for

these numbers of peasants," thought Julien. It was impossible to move

a step at Verrières, and here there were more than ten thousand round

this ancient abbey. Half ruined by the vandalism of the Revolution,

it had been magnificently restored since the Restoration, and people

were already beginning to talk of miracles. Julien rejoined the abbé

Chélan, who scolded him roundly and gave him a cassock and a surplice.

He dressed quickly and followed M. Chélan, who was going to pay a call

on the young bishop of Agde. He was a nephew of M. de la Mole, who had

been recently nominated, and had been charged with the duty of showing

the relic to the King. But the bishop was not to be found.

The clergy began to get impatient. It was awaiting its chief in the

sombre Gothic cloister of the ancient abbey. Twenty-four curés had

been brought together so as to represent the ancient chapter of

Bray-le-Haut, which before 1789 consisted of twenty-four canons. The

curés, having deplored the bishop's youth for three-quarters of an

hour, thought it fitting for their senior to visit Monseigneur to

apprise him that the King was on the point of arriving, and that it was

time to betake himself to the choir. The great age of M. Chélan gave

him the seniority. In spite of the bad temper which he was manifesting

to Julien, he signed him to follow. Julien was wearing his surplice

with distinction. By means of some trick or other of ecclesiastical

dress, he had made his fine curling hair very flat, but by a

forgetfulness, which redoubled the anger of M. Chélan, the spurs of the

Guard of Honour could be seen below the long folds of his cassock.

When they arrived at the bishop's apartment, the tall lackeys with

their lace-frills scarcely deigned to answer the old curé to the effect

that Monseigneur was not receiving. They made fun of him when he tried

to explain that in his capacity of senior member of the chapter of

Bray-le-Haut, he had the privilege of being admitted at any time to the

officiating bishop.

Julien's haughty temper was shocked by the lackeys' insolence. He

started to traverse the corridors of the ancient abbey, and to shake

all the doors which he found. A very small one yielded to his efforts,

and he found himself in a cell in the midst of Monseigneur's valets,

who were dressed in black suits with chains on their necks. His hurried

manner made these gentlemen think that he had been sent by the bishop,

and they let him pass. He went some steps further on, and found himself

in an immense Gothic hall, which was extremely dark, and completely

wainscotted in black oak. The ogive windows had all been walled in

with brick except one. There was nothing to disguise the coarseness

of this masonry, which offered a melancholy contrast to the ancient

magnificence of the woodwork. The two great sides of this hall, so

celebrated among Burgundian antiquaries, and built by the Duke, Charles

the Bold, about 1470 in expiation of some sin, were adorned with richly

sculptured wooden stalls. All the mysteries of the Apocalypse were to

be seen portrayed in wood of different colours.

This melancholy magnificence, debased as it was by the sight of the

bare bricks and the plaster (which was still quite white) affected

Julien. He stopped in silence. He saw at the other extremity of the

hall, near the one window which let in the daylight, a movable mahogany

mirror. A young man in a violet robe and a lace surplice, but with his

head bare, was standing still three paces from the glass. This piece

of furniture seemed strange in a place like this, and had doubtless

been only brought there on the previous day. Julien thought that the

young man had the appearance of being irritated. He was solemnly giving

benedictions with his right hand close to the mirror.

"What can this mean," he thought. "Is this young priest performing some

preliminary ceremony? Perhaps he is the bishop's secretary. He will be

as insolent as the lackeys. Never mind though! Let us try." He advanced

and traversed somewhat slowly the length of the hall, with his gaze

fixed all the time on the one window, and looking at the young man who

continued without any intermission bestowing slowly an infinite number

of blessings.

The nearer he approached the better he could distinguish his angry

manner. The richness of the lace surplice stopped Julien in spite of

himself some paces in front of the mirror. "It is my duty to speak," he

said to himself at last. But the beauty of the hall had moved him, and

he was already upset by the harsh words he anticipated.

The young man saw him in the mirror, turned round, and suddenly

discarding his angry manner, said to him in the gentlest tone,

"Well, Monsieur, has it been arranged at last?"

Julien was dumbfounded. As the young man began to turn towards him,

Julien saw the pectoral cross on his breast. It was the bishop of Agde.

"As young as that," thought Julien. "At most six or eight years older

than I am!"

He was ashamed of his spurs.

"Monseigneur," he said at last, "I am sent by M. Chélan, the senior of

the chapter."

"Ah, he has been well recommended to me," said the bishop in a polished

tone which doubled Julien's delight, "But I beg your pardon, Monsieur,

I mistook you for the person who was to bring me my mitre. It was badly

packed at Paris. The silver cloth towards the top has been terribly

spoiled. It will look awful," ended the young bishop sadly, "And

besides, I am being kept waiting."

"Monseigneur, I will go and fetch the mitre if your grace will let me."

Julien's fine eyes did their work.

"Go, Monsieur," answered the bishop, with charming politeness. "I need

it immediately. I am grieved to keep the gentlemen of the chapter

waiting."

When Julien reached the centre of the hall, he turned round towards the

bishop, and saw that he had again commenced giving benedictions.

"What can it be?" Julien asked himself. "No doubt it is a necessary

ecclesiastical preliminary for the ceremony which is to take place."

When he reached the cell in which the valets were congregated, he

saw the mitre in their hands. These gentlemen succumbed in spite of

themselves to his imperious look, and gave him Monseigneur's mitre.

He felt proud to carry it. As he crossed the hall he walked slowly. He

held it with reverence. He found the bishop seated before the glass,

but from time to time, his right hand, although fatigued, still gave a

blessing. Julien helped him to adjust his mitre. The bishop shook his

head.

"Ah! it will keep on," he said to Julien with an air of satisfaction.

"Do you mind going a little way off?"

Then the bishop went very quickly to the centre of the room, then

approached the mirror, again resumed his angry manner, and gravely

began to give blessings.

Julien was motionless with astonishment. He was tempted to understand,

but did not dare. The bishop stopped, and suddenly abandoning his grave

manner looked at him and said:

"What do you think of my mitre, monsieur, is it on right?"

"Quite right, Monseigneur."

"It is not too far back? That would look a little silly, but I mustn't

on the other hand wear it down over the eyes like an officer's shako."

"It seems to me to be on quite right."

"The King of ---- is accustomed to a venerable clergy who are doubtless

very solemn. I should not like to appear lacking in dignity, especially

by reason of my youth."

And the bishop started again to walk about and give benedictions.

"It is quite clear," said Julien, daring to understand at last, "He is

practising giving his benediction."

"I am ready," the bishop said after a few moments. "Go, Monsieur, and

advise the senior and the gentlemen of the chapter."

Soon M. Chélan, followed by the two oldest curés, entered by a big

magnificently sculptured door, which Julien had not previously noticed.

But this time he remained in his place quite at the back, and was only

able to see the bishop over the shoulders of ecclesiastics who were

pressing at the door in crowds.

The bishop began slowly to traverse the hall. When he reached the

threshold, the curés formed themselves into a procession. After a short

moment of confusion, the procession began to march intoning the psalm.

The bishop, who was between M. Chélan and a very old curé, was the last

to advance. Julien being in attendance on the abbé Chélan managed to

get quite near Monseigneur. They followed the long corridors of the

abbey of Bray-le-Haut. In spite of the brilliant sun they were dark and

damp. They arrived finally at the portico of the cloister. Julien was

dumbfounded with admiration for so fine a ceremony. His emotions were

divided between thoughts of his own ambition which had been reawakened

by the bishop's youth and thoughts of the latter's refinement and

exquisite politeness. This politeness was quite different to that of M.

de Rênal, even on his good days. "The higher you lift yourself towards

the first rank of society," said Julien to himself, "the more charming

manners you find."

They entered the church by a side door; suddenly an awful noise made

the ancient walls echo. Julien thought they were going to crumble. It

was the little piece of artillery again. It had been drawn at a gallop

by eight horses and had just arrived. Immediately on its arrival it had

been run out by the Leipsic cannoneers and fired five shots a minute as

though the Prussians had been the target.

But this admirable noise no longer produced any effect on Julien. He no

longer thought of Napoleon and military glory. "To be bishop of Agde so

young," he thought. "But where is Agde? How much does it bring in? Two

or three hundred thousand francs, perhaps."

Monseigneur's lackeys appeared with a magnificent canopy. M. Chélan

took one of the poles, but as a matter of fact it was Julien who

carried it. The bishop took his place underneath. He had really

succeeded in looking old; and our hero's admiration was now quite

unbounded. "What can't one accomplish with skill," he thought.

The king entered. Julien had the good fortune to see him at close

quarters. The bishop began to harangue him with unction, without

forgetting a little nuance of very polite anxiety for his Majesty.

We will not repeat a description of the ceremony of Bray-le-Haut.

They filled all the columns of the journals of the department for a

fortnight on end. Julien learnt from the bishop that the king was

descended from Charles the Bold.

At a later date, it was one of Julien's duties to check the accounts

of the cost of this ceremony. M. de la Mole, who had succeeded in

procuring a bishopric for his nephew, had wished to do him the favour

of being himself responsible for all the expenses. The ceremony alone

of Bray-le-Haute cost three thousand eight hundred francs.

After the speech of the bishop, and the answer of the king, his

Majesty took up a position underneath the canopy, and then knelt very

devoutly on a cushion near the altar. The choir was surrounded by

stalls, and the stalls were raised two steps from the pavement. It

was at the bottom of these steps that Julien sat at the feet of M.

de Chélan almost like a train-bearer sitting next to his cardinal in

the Sixtine chapel at Rome. There was a _Te Deum_, floods of incense,

innumerable volleys of musketry and artillery; the peasants were drunk

with happiness and piety. A day like this undoes the work of a hundred

numbers of the Jacobin papers.

Julien was six paces from the king, who was really praying with

devotion. He noticed for the first time a little man with a witty

expression, who wore an almost plain suit. But he had a sky-blue ribbon

over this very simple suit. He was nearer the king than many other

lords, whose clothes were embroidered with gold to such an extent that,

to use Julien's expression, it was impossible to see the cloth. He

learnt some minutes later that it was Monsieur de la Mole. He thought

he looked haughty, and even insolent.

"I'm sure this marquis is not so polite as my pretty bishop," he

thought. "Ah, the ecclesiastical calling makes men mild and good. But

the king has come to venerate the relic, and I don't see a trace of the

relic. Where has Saint Clement got to?"

A little priest who sat next to him informed him that the venerable

relic was at the top of the building in a _chapelle ardente_.

"What is a _chapelle ardente_," said Julien to himself.

But he was reluctant to ask the meaning of this word. He redoubled his

attention.

The etiquette on the occasion of a visit of a sovereign prince is

that the canons do not accompany the bishop. But, as he started on

his march to the _chapelle ardente_, my lord bishop of Agde called

the abbé Chélan. Julien dared to follow him. Having climbed up a long

staircase, they reached an extremely small door whose Gothic frame

was magnificently gilded. This work looked as though it had been

constructed the day before.

Twenty-four young girls belonging to the most distinguished families in

Verrières were assembled in front of the door. The bishop knelt down

in the midst of these pretty maidens before he opened the door. While

he was praying aloud, they seemed unable to exhaust their admiration

for his fine lace, his gracious mien, and his young and gentle face.

This spectacle deprived our hero of his last remnants of reason. At

this moment he would have fought for the Inquisition, and with a good

conscience. The door suddenly opened. The little chapel was blazing

with light. More than a thousand candles could be seen before the

altar, divided into eight lines and separated from each other by

bouquets of flowers. The suave odour of the purest incense eddied

out from the door of the sanctuary. The chapel, which had been newly

gilded, was extremely small but very high. Julien noticed that there

were candles more than fifteen feet high upon the altar. The young

girls could not restrain a cry of admiration. Only the twenty-four

young girls, the two curés and Julien had been admitted into the little

vestibule of the chapel. Soon the king arrived, followed by Monsieur

de la Mole and his great Chamberlain. The guards themselves remained

outside kneeling and presenting arms.

His Majesty precipitated, rather than threw himself, on to the stool.

It was only then that Julien, who was keeping close to the gilded

door, perceived over the bare arm of a young girl, the charming statue

of St. Clement. It was hidden under the altar, and bore the dress of

a young Roman soldier. It had a large wound on its neck, from which

the blood seemed to flow. The artist had surpassed himself. The eyes,

which though dying were full of grace, were half closed. A budding

moustache adored that charming mouth which, though half closed, seemed

notwithstanding to be praying. The young girl next to Julien wept warm

tears at the sight. One of her tears fell on Julien's hand.

After a moment of prayer in the profoundest silence, that was only

broken by the distant sound of the bells of all the villages within a

radius of ten leagues, the bishop of Agde asked the king's permission

to speak. He finished a short but very touching speech with a passage,

the very simplicity of which assured its effectiveness:

"Never forget, young Christian women, that you have seen one of the

greatest kings of the world on his knees before the servants of

this Almighty and terrible God. These servants, feeble, persecuted,

assassinated as they were on earth, as you can see by the still

bleeding wounds of Saint Clement, will triumph in Heaven. You will

remember them, my young Christian women, will you not, this day for

ever, and will detest the infidel. You will be for ever faithful to

this God who is so great, so terrible, but so good?"

With these words the bishop rose authoritatively.

"You promise me?" he said, lifting up his arm with an inspired air.

"We promise," said the young girls melting into tears.

"I accept your promise in the name of the terrible God," added the

bishop in a thunderous voice, and the ceremony was at an end.

The king himself was crying. It was only a long time afterwards that

Julien had sufficient self-possession to enquire "where were the bones

of the Saint that had been sent from Rome to Philip the Good, Duke of

Burgundy?" He was told that they were hidden in the charming waxen

figure.

His Majesty deigned to allow the young ladies who had accompanied him

into the chapel to wear a red ribbon on which were embroidered these

words, "HATE OF THE INFIDEL. PERPETUAL ADORATION."

Monsieur de la Mole had ten thousand bottles of wine distributed among

the peasants. In the evening at Verrières, the Liberals made a point of

having illuminations which were a hundred times better than those of

the Royalists. Before leaving, the king paid a visit to M. de Moirod.