CHAPTER III

THE CURÉ'S TALE

After a sojourn of three days at the presbytery of ---- I had so far gained the curé's confidence that he opened his heart to me, and related all that he knew as to the history of those persons in whom I had become so singularly interested.

I will try to tell the tale in his grave and simple words.

"I had been the curé of this parish for about four years, monsieur, when the house that we have been to look at was bought by an agent, for M. le Comte Arthur de ----, whose portrait you have seen. I am still ignorant as to his family name, but I presume that the count was of a noble and ancient lineage. I judge so, at least, from his title, and from the almost religious respect he paid the old family portraits which hung in his study.

"Before the arrival of Count Arthur (for I never heard him called by any other name) in the village, there came a confidential servant, accompanied by an architect and several workmen from Paris, who changed the plain and unpretending country house that then stood here into the charming habitation you have so much admired. When this was finished the workmen all went away, and the confidential man alone remained to await his master.

"Although it was neither in accordance with my avocation nor my nature to seek information about the people who came to dwell in our little village, it was impossible to avoid hearing certain rumours, spread abroad, no doubt, by the foreign workmen. According to these tales, the count, who was very rich, was coming to live among us with a lady who was not his wife. Moreover, the life of this gentleman had been, they said, of such scandalous and shameless immorality that, though he had not positively been banished from good society, the sort of repulsion which he inspired, because of certain adventures, was so great that he felt it would be better for him to live henceforth in retirement.

"You can easily conceive, monsieur, that my first impression, if it was not hostile, was certainly very unfavourable to this stranger. It is true, I did not know him, but supposing that these rumours had some foundation, here he was coming, I say, to set a bad example to our poor mountaineers, in whose eyes the fortune and rank of the newcomers would seem to authorise their culpable behaviour.

"These thoughts gave me a great distrust of the count, and I promised myself, if by a scarcely probable chance he should make me any personal advances, to meet them with a severe and inexorable coldness, thus protesting against the immorality of the life he was leading.

"It was two years ago, then, that the count established himself here with a young woman and a child, whose portraits you have seen. A few days after his arrival I received a note from him, asking the favour of an interview. I could not very well refuse, and consequently the count presented himself at the presbytery. Although my resolution, my habits, my character, my principles, and the way I have of looking at certain things and certain men, all prejudiced me against him, I could not help being immediately prepossessed by his remarkable individuality. You have seen his portrait, monsieur. I was also captivated by his grave, polished, and dignified manners, and, above all, by the extent and nobility of mind which he revealed in the long conversation we had together, that very first day.

"He began by saying that, coming to dwell in the village of ----, he considered it a duty and a pleasure to pay me a visit, and that he would be under a great obligation to me if I would be willing to supervise the disbursement of twenty-five louis a month which he wished to place at my disposition, either for the poor of the parish or for the amelioration of their condition in whatever way I judged most suitable. He also begged me to talk things over with the doctor of the village, who would probably know more of the suffering and necessity of the poor than any one else.

"He furthermore begged me to believe that any request destined to lighten suffering or prevent misfortune would be heard and granted by him with the greatest gratification. What shall I say, monsieur? How shall I tell it to you? The count showed himself to be such a wise and enlightened philanthropist that, notwithstanding my resolutions and prejudices, I could not help being struck with astonishment, almost with admiration, at the sight of a man, still young, and who had, so they said, surfeited himself on all the pleasures which the rich and fortunate in this life enjoy, who was able to understand so truly the sorrows and misery of the obscure, and how to go about helping them in the surest way.

"But alas! at the end of this conversation, which had held me under an inexplicable charm, though I struggled against it in vain, my dislike returned stronger; and I know not to this day whether to my glory or to my shame, for the count avowed to me shamelessly, as though wishing to proclaim his impiety, that he 'had no faith in our religions,' but that he respected them sufficiently to amuse himself with them, and that I must therefore understand that I need never expect to see him in church.

"What did he mean by those words, 'he had no faith in our religions?' I ignore the meaning still. Did he mean the religions of Europe? Did he wish to have it understood that he was neither Catholic nor Protestant, nor a member of any one of the dissident sects which diverge from Catholicism, though clinging still to it by the root of Christianity? I am still ignorant of his creed, though I saw him in his last dreadful hour.

"As I have told you, monsieur, this resolution of his, never to take part in the celebration of our holy mysteries, caused me a feeling of indignation. I saw in it only a disdainful pretext used to hide a total indifference or a culpable estrangement. Thus I could only see a scarcely meritorious commiseration in the liberal display of almsgiving, which his brilliant position and fortune enabled him to make at no personal sacrifice.

"I was wrong in this, because he confined himself not merely to the bestowing of gold; he had discussed at length with me the misery of the poor, and had sought my advice as to the best means of being helpful; but as I keep telling you, his want of faith in our religion rendered me unjust, oh, very unjust, as you will see, for I allowed the blow of my righteous indignation to fall on one who was completely innocent.

"On the Sunday following my conversation with the count, I saw kneeling in the church the young woman who lived with him, and who, they said, did not bear his name. This was the truth, as I have since found out. The liaison was culpable in the eyes of God and men; but alas! if the crime of these unfortunate beings was great, their chastisement was terrible.

"Pardon me for being so touched by this remembrance. I was telling you," said the abbé, as he wiped away his tears, "that I saw, one Sunday, this lady kneeling in the church.

"I mounted the pulpit stairs, and went so far in my sermon as to make direct and even cruel allusions to the detestable immorality of the rich of this earth, who hoped, I added, to extenuate their faults by disdainfully throwing alms to the poor. I exalted the poor unfortunate who prays, believes, and divides the bread for which he is famishing with one more miserable than himself; while I had only a few cold words of eulogy to give to the rich man, whose beneficence is only of his superfluity. I did more; I went further; I exalted the peaceful and virtuous existence of the poor man who seeks forgetfulness of his ills in the sweetness of a union blessed by God, and I raised my voice violently against the rich, who seem to trample underfoot all received morality, and take a wicked delight in setting at defiance those duties which, in their impious pride, they regard as beneath their station, and only suitable for the lower classes.

"Ah, monsieur, I do not reproach myself for those bitter words, for they but expressed my horror of a conduct which at this hour I think as criminal as I did then. But can you believe it? since that time I have been weak enough to bitterly repent of all I then said.

"That Sunday, on hearing my discourse, to which my indignation lent great energy, the eyes of all our mountaineers were turned towards this unfortunate woman who was humbly kneeling in their midst. She bent her head lower, and covered her face with the folds of her veil, while from the convulsive movements of her shoulders she seemed to be weeping bitterly. I was elated with triumph, for I thought I had awakened the spirit of remorse in a guilty soul. When holy service was over I returned to the presbytery.

"While I had no fear for the anger of the count, who might justly take offence at my allusions, I was nevertheless preoccupied as to the effect on him of my discourse.

"The next day he came to see me.

"When my sister came to announce his visit, I could not help feeling a certain emotion, but his manner was as cordial as on the former occasion. He said not a word about the sermon of the previous day, but spoke about the needs of our poor people. He had come to speak to me of a project he had of establishing a school for the children of the parish under my direction, communicated to me his ideas on the subject, showed what I thought to be a wise and remarkable distinction between the education which ought to be given to children who were destined to manual labour, and that which would be suitable for those who intended to follow the liberal professions. He disclosed in this conversation, during which I again fell under his charm, the highest and broadest views, and a spirit of maturity and justice. Then he quitted me.

"Alas! monsieur, how inexplicable are the weaknesses of our poor human nature! I was almost offended by the count's apparent indifference to my sermon, whereas he showed, by the moderation of his behaviour, a respectful submission to the duty which my convictions and my nature imposed on me.

"Soon afterwards, one of the great festivals of the Church drew nigh. I went to the church to hear the confessions of our mountain people, and as I was about to enter the confessional I saw among the peasants this same woman, who was humbly kneeling like all the rest on the cold, moist stone floor. She waited there a long time, and came in her turn to the penitential tribunal.

"I am far from indulgent towards our peasants, but I know not why I should have felt myself disposed to be unusually severe to a person whose rank seemed to place her above them. The lady's voice was trembling with emotion, her accent was timid and sweet; and without here disclosing one of our greatest, one of our most sacred secrets, since, alas! monsieur, I only tell you the facts which have since been made public by a frightful event, I recognised that day, and from thenceforth, a most noble and repentant soul, but at the same time most weak and guilty in its criminal attachment to the count. This attachment resembled a sort of exaltation which, were it not almost a profanation of the words, I might describe as holy and religious.

"What more can I tell you, monsieur! After six months' residence in our part of the country, the count and this lady, whom our peasants in their grateful simplicity called 'l'Ange Marie' (for no one had ever heard her called by any name but Marie),--the count and this lady had been so charitable that one could hardly find an unhappy creature in the whole parish. What is more, such was the strange confidence that our mountaineers had in the inexhaustible beneficence of this sweet soul, that if sometimes I would seek to deter them from some perilous hunting excursion by reminding them of their families, should any of them perish, they would reply to me, 'Father, the Angel Marie will take care of them.' In short, this lady had become the providence of the village, and the poor folks relied on her goodness as on the _bon Dieu._

"At the end of a year this beloved and blessed lady fell dangerously