THE VICAR OF TOURS

 BY

 HONORE DE BALZAC

 Translated by

 Katharine Prescott Wormeley

 DEDICATION

 To David, Sculptor:

The permanence of the work on which I inscribe your name--twice made illustrious in this century--is very problematical;whereas you have graven mine in bronze which survives nations--if only in their coins. The day may come when numismatists, discovering amid the ashes of Paris existences perpetuated byyou, will wonder at the number of heads crowned in youratelier and endeavour to find in them new dynasties. 

To you, this divine privilege; to me, gratitude. 

 De Balzac. 

 THE VICAR OF TOURS

 I

Early in the autumn of 1826 the Abbe Birotteau, the principalpersonage of this history, was overtaken by a shower of rain as hereturned home from a friend's house, where he had been passing theevening. He therefore crossed, as quickly as his corpulence wouldallow, the deserted little square called "The Cloister, " which liesdirectly behind the chancel of the cathedral of Saint-Gatien at Tours. 

The Abbe Birotteau, a short little man, apoplectic in constitution andabout sixty years old, had already gone through several attacks ofgout. Now, among the petty miseries of human life the one for whichthe worthy priest felt the deepest aversion was the sudden sprinklingof his shoes, adorned with silver buckles, and the wetting of theirsoles. Notwithstanding the woollen socks in which at all seasons heenveloped his feet with the extreme care that ecclesiastics take ofthemselves, he was apt at such times to get them a little damp, andthe next day gout was sure to give him certain infallible proofs ofconstancy. Nevertheless, as the pavement of the Cloister was likely tobe dry, and as the abbe had won three francs ten sous in his rubberwith Madame de Listomere, he bore the rain resignedly from the middleof the place de l'Archeveche, where it began to come down in earnest. Besides, he was fondling his chimera, --a desire already twelve yearsold, the desire of a priest, a desire formed anew every evening andnow, apparently, very near accomplishment; in short, he had wrappedhimself so completely in the fur cape of a canon that he did not feelthe inclemency of the weather. During the evening several of thecompany who habitually gathered at Madame de Listomere's had almostguaranteed to him his nomination to the office of canon (then vacantin the metropolitan Chapter of Saint-Gatien), assuring him that no onedeserved such promotion as he, whose rights, long overlooked, wereindisputable. 

If he had lost the rubber, if he had heard that his rival, the AbbePoirel, was named canon, the worthy man would have thought the rainextremely chilling; he might even have thought ill of life. But it sochanced that he was in one of those rare moments when happy inwardsensations make a man oblivious of discomfort. In hastening his stepshe obeyed a more mechanical impulse, and truth (so essential in ahistory of manners and morals) compels us to say that he was thinkingof neither rain nor gout. 

In former days there was in the Cloister, on the side towards theGrand'Rue, a cluster of houses forming a Close and belonging to thecathedral, where several of the dignitaries of the Chapter lived. After the confiscation of ecclesiastical property the town had turnedthe passage through this close into a narrow street, called the Rue dela Psalette, by which pedestrians passed from the Cloister to theGrand'Rue. The name of this street, proves clearly enough that theprecentor and his pupils and those connected with the choir formerlylived there. The other side, the left side, of the street is occupiedby a single house, the walls of which are overshadowed by thebuttresses of Saint-Gatien, which have their base in the narrow littlegarden of the house, leaving it doubtful whether the cathedral wasbuilt before or after this venerable dwelling. An archaeologistexamining the arabesques, the shape of the windows, the arch of thedoor, the whole exterior of the house, now mellow with age, would seeat once that it had always been a part of the magnificent edifice withwhich it is blended. 

An antiquary (had there been one at Tours, --one of the least literarytowns in all France) would even discover, where the narrow streetenters the Cloister, several vestiges of an old arcade, which formerlymade a portico to these ecclesiastical dwellings, and was, no doubt, harmonious in style with the general character of the architecture. 

The house of which we speak, standing on the north side of thecathedral, was always in the shadow thrown by that vast edifice, onwhich time had cast its dingy mantle, marked its furrows, and shed itschill humidity, its lichen, mosses, and rank herbs. The darkeneddwelling was wrapped in silence, broken only by the bells, by thechanting of the offices heard through the windows of the church, bythe call of the jackdaws nesting in the belfries. The region is adesert of stones, a solitude with a character of its own, an aridspot, which could only be inhabited by beings who had either attainedto absolute nullity, or were gifted with some abnormal strength ofsoul. The house in question had always been occupied by abbes, and itbelonged to an old maid named Mademoiselle Gamard. Though the propertyhad been bought from the national domain under the Reign of Terror bythe father of Mademoiselle Gamard, no one objected under theRestoration to the old maid's retaining it, because she took prieststo board and was very devout; it may be that religious persons gaveher credit for the intention of leaving the property to the Chapter. 

The Abbe Birotteau was making his way to this house, where he hadlived for the last two years. His apartment had been (as was now thecanonry) an object of envy and his "hoc erat in votis" for a dozenyears. To be Mademoiselle Gamard's boarder and to become a canon werethe two great desires of his life; in fact they do present accuratelythe ambition of a priest, who, considering himself on the highroad toeternity, can wish for nothing in this world but good lodging, goodfood, clean garments, shoes with silver buckles, a sufficiency ofthings for the needs of the animal, and a canonry to satisfyself-love, that inexpressible sentiment which follows us, they say, into the presence of God, --for there are grades among the saints. Butthe covetous desire for the apartment which the Abbe Birotteau was nowinhabiting (a very harmless desire in the eyes of worldly people) hadbeen to the abbe nothing less than a passion, a passion full ofobstacles, and, like more guilty passions, full of hopes, pleasures, and remorse. 

The interior arrangements of the house did not allow MademoiselleGamard to take more than two lodgers. Now, for about twelve yearsbefore the day when Birotteau went to live with her she had undertakento keep in health and contentment two priests; namely, Monsieur l'AbbeTroubert and Monsieur l'Abbe Chapeloud. The Abbe Troubert still lived. The Abbe Chapeloud was dead; and Birotteau had stepped into his place. 

The late Abbe Chapeloud, in life a canon of Saint-Gatien, had been anintimate friend of the Abbe Birotteau. Every time that the latter paida visit to the canon he had constantly admired the apartment, thefurniture and the library. Out of this admiration grew the desire topossess these beautiful things. It had been impossible for the AbbeBirotteau to stifle this desire; though it often made him sufferterribly when he reflected that the death of his best friend couldalone satisfy his secret covetousness, which increased as time wenton. The Abbe Chapeloud and his friend Birotteau were not rich. Bothwere sons of peasants; and their slender savings had been spent in themere costs of living during the disastrous years of the Revolution. When Napoleon restored the Catholic worship the Abbe Chapeloud wasappointed canon of the cathedral and Birotteau was made vicar of it. Chapeloud then went to board with Mademoiselle Gamard. When Birotteaufirst came to visit his friend, he thought the arrangement of therooms excellent, but he noticed nothing more. The outset of thisconcupiscence of chattels was very like that of a true passion, whichoften begins, in a young man, with cold admiration for a woman whom heends in loving forever. 

The apartment, reached by a stone staircase, was on the side of thehouse that faced south. The Abbe Troubert occupied the ground-floor, and Mademoiselle Gamard the first floor of the main building, lookingon the street. When Chapeloud took possession of his rooms they werebare of furniture, and the ceilings were blackened with smoke. Thestone mantelpieces, which were very badly cut, had never been painted. At first, the only furniture the poor canon could put in was a bed, atable, a few chairs, and the books he possessed. The apartment waslike a beautiful woman in rags. But two or three years later, an oldlady having left the Abbe Chapeloud two thousand francs, he spent thatsum on the purchase of an oak bookcase, the relic of a chateau pulleddown by the Bande Noire, the carving of which deserved the admirationof all artists. The abbe made the purchase less because it was verycheap than because the dimensions of the bookcase exactly fitted thespace it was to fill in his gallery. His savings enabled him torenovate the whole gallery, which up to this time had been neglectedand shabby. The floor was carefully waxed, the ceiling whitened, thewood-work painted to resemble the grain and knots of oak. A long tablein ebony and two cabinets by Boulle completed the decoration, and gaveto this gallery a certain air that was full of character. In thecourse of two years the liberality of devout persons, and legacies, though small ones, from pious penitents, filled the shelves of thebookcase, till then half empty. Moreover, Chapeloud's uncle, an oldOratorian, had left him his collection in folio of the Fathers of theChurch, and several other important works that were precious to apriest. 

Birotteau, more and more surprised by the successive improvements ofthe gallery, once so bare, came by degrees to a condition ofinvoluntary envy. He wished he could possess that apartment, sothoroughly in keeping with the gravity of ecclestiastical life. Thepassion increased from day to day. Working, sometimes for daystogether, in this retreat, the vicar could appreciate the silence andthe peace that reigned there. During the following year the AbbeChapeloud turned a small room into an oratory, which his pious friendstook pleasure in beautifying. Still later, another lady gave the canona set of furniture for his bedroom, the covering of which she hadembroidered under the eyes of the worthy man without his eversuspecting its destination. The bedroom then had the same effect uponthe vicar that the gallery had long had; it dazzled him. Lastly, aboutthree years before the Abbe Chapeloud's death, he completed thecomfort of his apartment by decorating the salon. Though the furniturewas plainly covered in red Utrecht velvet, it fascinated Birotteau. From the day when the canon's friend first laid eyes on the red damaskcurtains, the mahogany furniture, the Aubusson carpet which adornedthe vast room, then lately painted, his envy of Chapeloud's apartmentbecame a monomania hidden within his breast. To live there, to sleepin that bed with the silk curtains where the canon slept, to have allChapeloud's comforts about him, would be, Birotteau felt, completehappiness; he saw nothing beyond it. All the envy, all the ambitionwhich the things of this world give birth to in the hearts of othermen concentrated themelves for Birotteau in the deep and secretlonging he felt for an apartment like that which the Abbe Chapeloudhad created for himself. When his friend fell ill he went to him outof true affection; but all the same, when he first heard of hisillness, and when he sat by his bed to keep him company, there arosein the depths of his consciousness, in spite of himself, a crowd ofthoughts the simple formula of which was always, "If Chapeloud dies Ican have this apartment. " And yet--Birotteau having an excellentheart, contracted ideas, and a limited mind--he did not go so far asto think of means by which to make his friend bequeath to him thelibrary and the furniture. 

The Abbe Chapeloud, an amiable, indulgent egoist, fathomed hisfriend's desires--not a difficult thing to do--and forgave them; whichmay seem less easy to a priest; but it must be remembered that thevicar, whose friendship was faithful, did not fail to take a dailywalk with his friend along their usual path in the Mail de Tours, never once depriving him of an instant of the time devoted for overtwenty years to that exercise. Birotteau, who regarded his secretwishes as crimes, would have been capable, out of contrition, of theutmost devotion to his friend. The latter paid his debt of gratitudefor a friendship so ingenuously sincere by saying, a few days beforehis death, as the vicar sat by him reading the "Quotidienne" aloud:"This time you will certainly get the apartment. I feel it is all overwith me now. "

Accordingly, it was found that the Abbe Chapeloud had left his libraryand all his furniture to his friend Birotteau. The possession of thesethings, so keenly desired, and the prospect of being taken to board byMademoiselle Gamard, certainly did allay the grief which Birotteaufelt at the death of his friend the canon. He might not have beenwilling to resuscitate him; but he mourned him. For several days hewas like Gargantus, who, when his wife died in giving birth toPantagruel, did not know whether to rejoice at the birth of a son orgrieve at having buried his good Babette, and therefore cheatedhimself by rejoicing at the death of his wife, and deploring theadvent of Pantagruel. 

The Abbe Birotteau spent the first days of his mourning in verifyingthe books in _his_ library, in making use of _his_ furniture, inexamining the whole of his inheritance, saying in a tone which, unfortunately, was not noted at the time, "Poor Chapeloud!" His joyand his grief so completely absorbed him that he felt no pain when hefound that the office of canon, in which the late Chapeloud had hopedhis friend Birotteau might succeed him, was given to another. Mademoiselle Gamard having cheerfully agreed to take the vicar toboard, the latter was thenceforth a participator in all thosefelicities of material comfort of which the deceased canon had beenwont to boast. 

Incalculable they were! According to the Abbe Chapeloud none of thepriests who inhabited the city of Tours, not even the archbishop, hadever been the object of such minute and delicate attentions as thosebestowed by Mademoiselle Gamard on her two lodgers. The first wordsthe canon said to his friend when they met for their walk on the Mailreferred usually to the succulent dinner he had just eaten; and it wasa very rare thing if during the walks of each week he did not say atleast fourteen times, "That excellent spinster certainly has avocation for serving ecclesiastics. "

"Just think, " the canon would say to Birotteau, "that for twelveconsecutive years nothing has ever been amiss, --linen in perfectorder, bands, albs, surplices; I find everything in its place, alwaysin sufficient quantity, and smelling of orris-root. My furniture isrubbed and kept so bright that I don't know when I have seen any dust--did you ever see a speck of it in my rooms? Then the firewood is sowell selected. The least little things are excellent. In fact, Mademoiselle Gamard keeps an incessant watch over my wants. I can'tremember having rung twice for anything--no matter what--in ten years. That's what I call living! I never have to look for a single thing, not even my slippers. Always a good fire, always a good dinner. Oncethe bellows annoyed me, the nozzle was choked up; but I only mentionedit once, and the next day Mademoiselle gave me a very pretty pair, also those nice tongs you see me mend the fire with. "

For all answer Birotteau would say, "Smelling of orris-root!" That"smelling of orris-root" always affected him. The canon's remarksrevealed ideal joys to the poor vicar, whose bands and albs were theplague of his life, for he was totally devoid of method and oftenforgot to order his dinner. Therefore, if he saw Mademoiselle Gamardat Saint-Gatien while saying mass or taking round the plate, he neverfailed to give her a kindly and benevolent look, --such a look as SaintTeresa might have cast to heaven. 

Though the comforts which all creatures desire, and for which he hadso often longed, thus fell to his share, the Abbe Birotteau, like therest of the world, found it difficult, even for a priest, to livewithout something to hanker for. Consequently, for the last eighteenmonths he had replaced his two satisfied passions by an ardent longingfor a canonry. The title of Canon had become to him very much what apeerage is to a plebeian minister. The prospect of an appointment, hopes of which had just been held out to him at Madame de Listomere's, so completely turned his head that he did not observe until he reachedhis own door that he had left his umbrella behind him. Perhaps, eventhen, if the rain were not falling in torrents he might not havemissed it, so absorbed was he in the pleasure of going over and overin his mind what had been said to him on the subject of his promotionby the company at Madame de Listomere's, --an old lady with whom hespent every Wednesday evening. 

The vicar rang loudly, as if to let the servant know she was not tokeep him waiting. Then he stood close to the door to avoid, if hecould, getting showered; but the drip from the roof fell precisely onthe toes of his shoes, and the wind blew gusts of rain into his facethat were much like a shower-bath. Having calculated the time necesaryfor the woman to leave the kitchen and pull the string of the outerdoor, he rang again, this time in a manner that resulted in a verysignificant peal of the bell. 

"They can't be out, " he said to himself, not hearing any movement onthe premises. 

Again he rang, producing a sound that echoed sharply through the houseand was taken up and repeated by all the echoes of the cathedral, sothat no one could avoid waking up at the remonstrating racket. Accordingly, in a few moments, he heard, not without some pleasure inhis wrath, the wooden shoes of the servant-woman clacking along thepaved path which led to the outer door. But even then the discomfortsof the gouty old gentleman were not so quickly over as he hoped. Instead of pulling the string, Marianne was obliged to turn the lockof the door with its heavy key, and pull back all the bolts. 

"Why did you let me ring three times in such weather?" said the vicar. 

"But, monsieur, don't you see the door was locked? We have all been inbed ever so long; it struck a quarter to eleven some time ago. Mademoiselle must have thought you were in. "

"You saw me go out, yourself. Besides, Mademoiselle knows very well Ialways go to Madame de Listomere's on Wednesday evening. "

"I only did as Mademoiselle told me, monsieur. "

These words struck the vicar a blow, which he felt the more becausehis late revery had made him completely happy. He said nothing andfollowed Marianne towards the kitchen to get his candlestick, which hesupposed had been left there as usual. But instead of entering thekitchen Marianne went on to his own apartments, and there the vicarbeheld his candlestick on a table close to the door of the red salon, in a sort of antechamber formed by the landing of the staircase, whichthe late canon had inclosed with a glass partition. Mute withamazement, he entered his bedroom hastily, found no fire, and calledto Marianne, who had not had time to get downstairs. 

"You have not lighted the fire!" he said. 

"Beg pardon, Monsieur l'abbe, I did, " she said; "it must have goneout. "

Birotteau looked again at the hearth, and felt convinced that the firehad been out since morning. 

"I must dry my feet, " he said. "Make the fire. "

Marianne obeyed with the haste of a person who wants to get back toher night's rest. While looking about him for his slippers, which werenot in the middle of his bedside carpet as usual, the abbe took mentalnotes of the state of Marianne's dress, which convinced him that shehad not got out of bed to open the door as she said she had. He thenrecollected that for the last two weeks he had been deprived ofvarious little attentions which for eighteen months had made lifesweet to him. Now, as the nature of narrow minds induces them to studytrifles, Birotteau plunged suddenly into deep meditation on these fourcircumstances, imperceptible in their meaning to others, but to himindicative of four catastrophes. The total loss of his happiness wasevidently foreshadowed in the neglect to place his slipppers, inMarianne's falsehood about the fire, in the unusual removal of hiscandlestick to the table of the antechamber, and in the evidentintention to keep him waiting in the rain. 

When the fire was burning on the hearth, and the lamp was lighted, andMarianne had departed without saying, as usual, "Does Monsieur wantanything more?" the Abbe Birotteau let himself fall gently into thewide and handsome easy-chair of his late friend; but there wassomething mournful in the movement with which he dropped upon it. Thegood soul was crushed by a presentiment of coming calamity. His eyesroved successively to the handsome tall clock, the bureau, curtains, chairs, carpets, to the stately bed, the basin of holy-water, thecrucifix, to a Virgin by Valentin, a Christ by Lebrun, --in short, toall the accessories of this cherished room, while his face expressedthe anguish of the tenderest farewell that a lover ever took of hisfirst mistress, or an old man of his lately planted trees. The vicarhad just perceived, somewhat late it is true, the signs of a dumbpersecution instituted against him for the last three months byMademoiselle Gamard, whose evil intentions would doubtless have beenfathomed much sooner by a more intelligent man. Old maids have aspecial talent for accentuating the words and actions which theirdislikes suggest to them. They scratch like cats. They not only woundbut they take pleasure in wounding, and in making their victim seethat he is wounded. A man of the world would never have allowedhimself to be scratched twice; the good abbe, on the contrary, hadtaken several blows from those sharp claws before he could be broughtto believe in any evil intention. 

But when he did perceive it, he set to work, with the inquisitorialsagacity which priests acquire by directing consciences and burrowinginto the nothings of the confessional, to establish, as though it werea matter of religious controversy, the following proposition:"Admitting that Mademoiselle Gamard did not remember it was Madame deListomere's evening, and that Marianne did think I was home, and didreally forget to make my fire, it is impossible, inasmuch as I myselftook down my candlestick this morning, that Mademoiselle Gamard, seeing it in her salon, could have supposed I had gone to bed. Ergo, Mademoiselle Gamard intended that I should stand out in the rain, and, by carrying my candlestick upstairs, she meant to make me understandit. What does it all mean?" he said aloud, roused by the gravity ofthese circumstances, and rising as he spoke to take off his dampclothes, get into his dressing-gown, and do up his head for the night. Then he returned from the bed to the fireplace, gesticulating, andlaunching forth in various tones the following sentences, all of whichended in a high falsetto key, like notes of interjection:

"What the deuce have I done to her? Why is she angry with me? Mariannedid _not_ forget my fire! Mademoiselle told her not to light it! I mustbe a child if I can't see, from the tone and manner she has beentaking to me, that I've done something to displease her. Nothing likeit ever happened to Chapeloud! I can't live in the midst of suchtorments as--At my age--"

He went to bed hoping that the morrow might enlighten him on thecauses of the dislike which threatened to destroy forever thehappiness he had now enjoyed two years after wishing for it so long. Alas! the secret reasons for the inimical feelings Mademoiselle Gamardbore to the luckless abbe were fated to remain eternally unknown tohim, --not that they were difficult to fathom, but simply because helacked the good faith and candor by which great souls and scoundrelslook within and judge themselves. A man of genius or a trickster saysto himself, "I did wrong. " Self-interest and native talent are theonly infallible and lucid guides. Now the Abbe Birotteau, whosegoodness amounted to stupidity, whose knowledge was only, as it were, plastered on him by dint of study, who had no experience whatever ofthe world and its ways, who lived between the mass and theconfessional, chiefly occupied in dealing the most trivial matters ofconscience in his capacity of confessor to all the schools in town andto a few noble souls who rightly appreciated him, --the Abbe Birotteaumust be regarded as a great child, to whom most of the practices ofsocial life were utterly unknown. And yet, the natural selfishness ofall human beings, reinforced by the selfishness peculiar to thepriesthood and that of the narrow life of the provinces hadinsensibly, and unknown to himself, developed within him. If any onehad felt enough interest in the good man to probe his spirit and proveto him that in the numerous petty details of his life and in theminute duties of his daily existence he was essentially lacking in theself-sacrifice he professed, he would have punished and mortifiedhimself in good faith. But those whom we offend by such unconsciousselfishness pay little heed to our real innocence; what they want isvengeance, and they take it. Thus it happened that Birotteau, weakbrother that he was, was made to undergo the decrees of that greatdistributive Justice which goes about compelling the world to executeits judgments, --called by ninnies "the misfortunes of life. "

There was this difference between the late Chapeloud and the vicar, --one was a shrewd and clever egoist, the other a simple-minded andclumsy one. When the canon went to board with Mademoiselle Gamard heknew exactly how to judge of his landlady's character. Theconfessional had taught him to understand the bitterness that thesense of being kept outside the social pale puts into the heart of anold maid; he therefore calculated his own treatment of MademoiselleGamard very wisely. She was then about thirty-eight years old, andstill retained a few pretensions, which, in well-behaved persons ofher condition, change, rather later, into strong personal self-esteem. The canon saw plainly that to live comfortably with his landlady hemust pay her invariably the same attentions and be more infalliblethan the pope himself. To compass this result, he allowed no points ofcontact between himself and her except those that politeness demanded, and those which necessarily exist between two persons living under thesame roof. Thus, though he and the Abbe Troubert took their regularthree meals a day, he avoided the family breakfast by inducingMademoiselle Gamard to send his coffee to his own room. He alsoavoided the annoyance of supper by taking tea in the houses of friendswith whom he spent his evenings. In this way he seldom saw hislandlady except at dinner; but he always came down to that meal a fewminutes in advance of the hour. During this visit of courtesy, as itmay be called, he talked to her, for the twelve years he had livedunder her roof, on nearly the same topics, receiving from her the sameanswers. How she had slept, her breakfast, the trivial domesticevents, her looks, her health, the weather, the time the churchservices had lasted, the incidents of the mass, the health of such orsuch a priest, --these were the subjects of their daily conversation. During dinner he invariably paid her certain indirect compliments; thefish had an excellent flavor; the seasoning of a sauce was delicious;Mademoiselle Gamard's capacities and virtues as mistress of ahousehold were great. He was sure of flattering the old maid's vanityby praising the skill with which she made or prepared her preservesand pickles and pates and other gastronomical inventions. To cap all, the wily canon never left his landlady's yellow salon after dinnerwithout remarking that there was no house in Tours where he could getsuch good coffee as that he had just imbibed. 

Thanks to this thorough understanding of Mademoiselle Gamard'scharacter, and to the science of existence which he had put inpractice for the last twelve years, no matter of discussion on theinternal arrangements of the household had ever come up between them. The Abbe Chapeloud had taken note of the spinster's angles, asperities, and crabbedness, and had so arranged his avoidance of herthat he obtained without the least difficulty all the concessions thatwere necessary to the happiness and tranquility of his life. Theresult was that Mademoiselle Gamard frequently remarked to her friendsand acquaintances that the Abbe Chapeloud was a very amiable man, extremely easy to live with, and a fine mind. 

As to her other lodger, the Abbe Troubert, she said absolutely nothingabout him. Completely involved in the round of her life, like asatellite in the orbit of a planet, Troubert was to her a sort ofintermediary creature between the individuals of the human species andthose of the canine species; he was classed in her heart next, butdirectly before, the place intended for friends but now occupied by afat and wheezy pug which she tenderly loved. She ruled Troubertcompletely, and the intermingling of their interests was so obviousthat many persons of her social sphere believed that the Abbe Trouberthad designs on the old maid's property, and was binding her to himunawares with infinite patience, and really directing her while heseemed to be obeying without ever letting her percieve in him theslightest wish on his part to govern her. 

When the Abbe Chapeloud died, the old maid, who desired a lodger withquiet ways, naturally thought of the vicar. Before the canon's willwas made known she had meditated offering his rooms to the AbbeTroubert, who was not very comfortable on the ground-floor. But whenthe Abbe Birotteau, on receiving his legacy, came to settle in writingthe terms of his board she saw he was so in love with the apartment, for which he might now admit his long cherished desires, that shedared not propose the exchange, and accordingly sacrificed hersentiments of friendship to the demands of self-interest. But in orderto console her beloved canon, Mademoiselle took up the large whiteChateau-Renaud bricks that made the floors of his apartment andreplaced them by wooden floors laid in "point de Hongrie. " She alsorebuilt a smoky chimney. 

For twelve years the Abbe Birotteau had seen his friend Chapeloud inthat house without ever giving a thought to the motive of the canon'sextreme circumspection in his relations to Mademoiselle Gamard. Whenhe came himself to live with that saintly woman he was in thecondition of a lover on the point of being made happy. Even if he hadnot been by nature purblind of intellect, his eyes were too dazzled byhis new happiness to allow him to judge of the landlady, or to reflecton the limits which he ought to impose on their daily intercourse. Mademoiselle Gamard, seen from afar and through the prism of thosematerial felicities which the vicar dreamed of enjoying in her house, seemed to him a perfect being, a faultless Christian, essentiallycharitable, the woman of the Gospel, the wise virgin, adorned by allthose humble and modest virtues which shed celestial fragrance uponlife. 

So, with the enthusiasm of one who attains an object long desired, with the candor of a child, and the blundering foolishness of an oldman utterly without worldly experience, he fell into the life ofMademoiselle Gamard precisely as a fly is caught in a spider's web. The first day that he went to dine and sleep at the house he wasdetained in the salon after dinner, partly to make his landlady'sacquaintance, but chiefly by that inexplicable embarrassment whichoften assails timid people and makes them fear to seem impolite bybreaking off a conversation in order to take leave. Consequently heremained there the whole evening. Then a friend of his, a certainMademoiselle Salomon de Villenoix, came to see him, and this gaveMademoiselle Gamard the happiness of forming a card-table; so thatwhen the vicar went to bed he felt that he had passed a very agreeableevening. Knowing Mademoiselle Gamard and the Abbe Troubert butslightly, he saw only the superficial aspects of their characters; fewpersons bare their defects at once, they generally take on a becomingveneer. 

The worthy abbe was thus led to suggest to himself the charming planof devoting all his evenings to Mademoiselle Gamard, instead ofspending them, as Chapeloud had done, elsewhere. The old maid had foryears been possessed by a desire which grew stronger day by day. Thisdesire, often formed by old persons and even by pretty women, hadbecome in Mademoiselle Gamard's soul as ardent a longing as that ofBirotteau for Chapeloud's apartment; and it was strengthened by allthose feelings of pride, egotism, envy, and vanity which pre-exist inthe breasts of worldly people. 

This history is of all time; it suffices to widen slightly the narrowcircle in which these personages are about to act to find thecoefficient reasons of events which take place in the very highestspheres of social life. 

Mademoiselle Gamard spent her evenings by rotation in six or eightdifferent houses. Whether it was that she disliked being obliged to goout to seek society, and considered that at her age she had a right toexpect some return; or that her pride was wounded at receiving nocompany in her house; or that her self-love craved the compliments shesaw her various hostesses receive, --certain it is that her wholeambition was to make her salon a centre towards which a given numberof persons should nightly make their way with pleasure. One morning asshe left Saint-Gatien, after Birotteau and his friend MademoiselleSalomon had spent a few evenings with her and with the faithful andpatient Troubert, she said to certain of her good friends whom she metat the church door, and whose slave she had hitherto consideredherself, that those who wished to see her could certainly come once aweek to her house, where she had friends enough to make a card-table;she could not leave the Abbe Birotteau; Mademoiselle Salomon had notmissed a single evening that week; she was devoted to friends; and--etcetera, et cetera. Her speech was all the more humbly haughty andsoftly persuasive because Mademoiselle Salomon de Villenoix belongedto the most aristocatic society in Tours. For though MademoiselleSalomon came to Mademoiselle Gamard's house solely out of friendshipfor the vicar, the old maid triumphed in receiving her, and saw that, thanks to Birotteau, she was on the point of succeeding in her greatdesire to form a circle as numerous and as agreeable as those ofMadame de Listomere, Mademoiselle Merlin de la Blottiere, and otherdevout ladies who were in the habit of receiving the pious andecclesiastical society of Tours. 

But alas! the abbe Birotteau himself caused this cherished hope tomiscarry. Now if those persons who in the course of their lives haveattained to the enjoyment of a long desired happiness and havetherefore comprehended the joy of the vicar when he stepped intoChapeloud's vacant place, they will also have gained some faint ideaof Mademoiselle Gamard's distress at the overthrow of her favoriteplan. 

After accepting his happiness in the old maid's salon for six monthswith tolerable patience, Birotteau deserted the house of an evening, carrying with him Mademoiselle Salomon. In spite of her utmost effortsthe ambitious Gamard had recruited barely six visitors, whose faithfulattendance was more than problematical; and boston could not be playednight after night unless at least four persons were present. Thedefection of her two principal guests obliged her therefore to makesuitable apologies and return to her evening visiting among formerfriends; for old maids find their own company so distasteful that theyprefer to seek the doubtful pleasures of society. 

The cause of this desertion is plain enough. Although the vicar wasone of those to whom heaven is hereafter to belong in virtue of thedecree "Blessed are the poor in spirit, " he could not, like somefools, endure the annoyance that other fools caused him. Personswithout minds are like weeds that delight in good earth; they want tobe amused by others, all the more because they are dull within. Theincarnation of ennui to which they are victims, joined to the needthey feel of getting a divorce from themselves, produces that passionfor moving about, for being somewhere else than where they are, whichdistinguishes their species, --and also that of all beings devoid ofsensitiveness, and those who have missed their destiny, or who sufferby their own fault. 

Without really fathoming the vacuity and emptiness of MademoiselleGamard's mind, or stating to himself the pettiness of her ideas, thepoor abbe perceived, unfortunately too late, the defects which sheshared with all old maids, and those which were peculiar to herself. The bad points of others show out so strongly against the good thatthey usually strike our eyes before they wound us. This moralphenomenon might, at a pinch, be made to excuse the tendency we allhave, more or less, to gossip. It is so natural, socially speaking, tolaugh at the failings of others that we ought to forgive the ridiculeour own absurdities excite, and be annoyed only by calumny. But inthis instance the eyes of the good vicar never reached the opticalrange which enables men of the world to see and evade theirneighbours' rough points. Before he could be brought to perceive thefaults of his landlady he was forced to undergo the warning whichNature gives to all her creatures--pain. 

Old maids who have never yielded in their habits of life or in theircharacters to other lives and other characters, as the fate of womanexacts, have, as a general thing, a mania for making others give wayto them. In Mademoiselle Gamard this sentiment had degenerated intodespotism, but a despotism that could only exercise itself on littlethings. For instance (among a hundred other examples), the basket ofcounters placed on the card-table for the Abbe Birotteau was to standexactly where she placed it; and the abbe annoyed her terribly bymoving it, which he did nearly every evening. How is thissensitiveness stupidly spent on nothings to be accounted for? what isthe object of it? No one could have told in this case; MademoiselleGamard herself knew no reason for it. The vicar, though a sheep bynature, did not like, any more than other sheep, to feel the crook toooften, especially when it bristled with spikes. Not seeking to explainto himself the patience of the Abbe Troubert, Birotteau simplywithdrew from the happiness which Mademoiselle Gamard believed thatshe seasoned to his liking, --for she regarded happiness as a thing tobe made, like her preserves. But the luckless abbe made the break in aclumsy way, the natural way of his own naive character, and it was notcarried out without much nagging and sharp-shooting, which the AbbeBirotteau endeavored to bear as if he did not feel them. 

By the end of the first year of his sojourn under MademoiselleGamard's roof the vicar had resumed his former habits; spending twoevenings a week with Madame de Listomere, three with MademoiselleSalomon, and the other two with Mademoiselle Merlin de la Blottiere. These ladies belonged to the aristocratic circles of Touraineansociety, to which Mademoiselle Gamard was not admitted. Therefore theabbe's abandonment was the more insulting, because it made her feelher want of social value; all choice implies contempt for the thingrejected. 

"Monsieur Birotteau does not find us agreeable enough, " said the AbbeTroubert to Mademoiselle Gamard's friends when she was forced to tellthem that her "evenings" must be given up. "He is a man of the world, and a good liver! He wants fashion, luxury, witty conversation, andthe scandals of the town. "

These words of course obliged Mademoiselle Gamard to defend herself atBirotteau's expense. 

"He is not much a man of the world, " she said. "If it had not been forthe Abbe Chapeloud he would never have been received at Madame deListomere's. Oh, what didn't I lose in losing the Abbe Chapeloud! Suchan amiable man, and so easy to live with! In twelve whole years Inever had the slightest difficulty or disagreement with him. "

Presented thus, the innocent abbe was considered by this bourgeoissociety, which secretly hated the aristocratic society, as a manessentially exacting and hard to get along with. For a weekMademoiselle Gamard enjoyed the pleasure of being pitied by friendswho, without really thinking one word of what they said, keptrepeating to her: "How _could_ he have turned against you?--so kind andgentle as you are!" or, "Console yourself, dear Mademoiselle Gamard, you are so well known that--" et cetera. 

Nevertheless, these friends, enchanted to escape one evening a week inthe Cloister, the darkest, dreariest, and most out of the way cornerin Tours, blessed the poor vicar in their hearts. 

Between persons who are perpetually in each other's company dislike orlove increases daily; every moment brings reasons to love or hate eachother more and more. The Abbe Birotteau soon became intolerable toMademoiselle Gamard. Eighteen months after she had taken him to board, and at the moment when the worthy man was mistaking the silence ofhatred for the peacefulness of content, and applauding himself forhaving, as he said, "managed matters so well with the old maid, " hewas really the object of an underhand persecution and a vengeancedeliberately planned. The four marked circumstances of the lockeddoor, the forgotten slippers, the lack of fire, and the removal of thecandlestick, were the first signs that revealed to him a terribleenmity, the final consequences of which were destined not to strikehim until the time came when they were irreparable. 

As he went to bed the worthy vicar worked his brains--quite uselessly, for he was soon at the end of them--to explain to himself theextraordinarily discourteous conduct of Mademoiselle Gamard. The factwas that, having all along acted logically in obeying the natural lawsof his own egotism, it was impossible that he should now perceive hisown faults towards his landlady. 

Though the great things of life are simple to understand and easy toexpress, the littlenesses require a vast number of details to explainthem. The foregoing events, which may be called a sort of prologue tothis bourgeois drama, in which we shall find passions as violent asthose excited by great interests, required this long introduction; andit would have been difficult for any faithful historian to shorten theaccount of these minute developments. 

 II

The next morning, on awaking, Birotteau thought so much of hisprospective canonry that he forgot the four circumstances in which hehad seen, the night before, such threatening prognostics of a futurefull of misery. The vicar was not a man to get up without a fire. Herang to let Marianne know that he was awake and that she must come tohim; then he remained, as his habit was, absorbed in somnolentmusings. The servant's custom was to make the fire and gently draw himfrom his half sleep by the murmured sound of her movements, --a sort ofmusic which he loved. Twenty minutes passed and Marianne had notappeared. The vicar, now half a canon, was about to ring again, whenhe let go the bell-pull, hearing a man's step on the staircase. In aminute more the Abbe Troubert, after discreetly knocking at the door, obeyed Birotteau's invitation and entered the room. This visit, whichthe two abbe's usually paid each other once a month, was no surpriseto the vicar. The canon at once exclaimed when he saw that Mariannehad not made the fire of his quasi-colleague. He opened the window andcalled to her harshly, telling her to come at once to the abbe; then, turning round to his ecclesiastical brother, he said, "If Mademoiselleknew that you had no fire she would scold Marianne. "

After this speech he inquired about Birotteau's health, and asked in agentle voice if he had had any recent news that gave him hopes of hiscanonry. The vicar explained the steps he had taken, and told, naively, the names of the persons with whom Madam de Listomere wasusing her influence, quite unaware that Troubert had never forgiventhat lady for not admitting him--the Abbe Troubert, twice proposed bythe bishop as vicar-general!--to her house. 

It would be impossible to find two figures which presented so manycontrasts to each other as those of the two abbes. Troubert, tall andlean, was yellow and bilious, while the vicar was what we call, familiarly, plump. Birotteau's face, round and ruddy, proclaimed akindly nature barren of ideas, while that of the Abbe Troubert, longand ploughed by many wrinkles, took on at times an expression ofsarcasm, or else of contempt; but it was necessary to watch him veryclosely before those sentiments could be detected. The canon'shabitual condition was perfect calmness, and his eyelids were usuallylowered over his orange-colored eyes, which could, however, give clearand piercing glances when he liked. Reddish hair added to the gloomyeffect of this countenance, which was always obscured by the veilwhich deep meditation drew across its features. Many persons at firstsight thought him absorbed in high and earnest ambitions; but thosewho claimed to know him better denied that impression, insisting thathe was only stupidly dull under Mademoiselle Gamard's despotism, orelse worn out by too much fasting. He seldom spoke, and never laughed. When it did so happen that he felt agreeably moved, a feeble smilewould flicker on his lips and lose itself in the wrinkles of his face. 

Birotteau, on the other hand, was all expansion, all frankness; heloved good things and was amused by trifles with the simplicity of aman who knew no spite or malice. The Abbe Troubert roused, at firstsight, an involuntary feeling of fear, while the vicar's presencebrought a kindly smile to the lips of all who looked at him. When thetall canon marched with solemn step through the naves and cloisters ofSaint-Gatien, his head bowed, his eye stern, respect followed him;that bent face was in harmony with the yellowing arches of thecathedral; the folds of his cassock fell in monumental lines that wereworthy of statuary. The good vicar, on the contrary, perambulatedabout with no gravity at all. He trotted and ambled and seemed attimes to roll himself along. But with all this there was one point ofresemblance between the two men. For, precisely as Troubert'sambitious air, which made him feared, had contributed probably to keephim down to the insignificant position of a mere canon, so thecharacter and ways of Birotteau marked him out as perpetually thevicar of the cathedral and nothing higher. 

Yet the Abbe Troubert, now fifty years of age, had entirely removed, partly by the circumspection of his conduct and the apparent lack ofall ambitions, and partly by his saintly life, the fears which hissuspected ability and his powerful presence had roused in the minds ofhis superiors. His health having seriously failed him during the lastyear, it seemed probable that he would soon be raised to the office ofvicar-general of the archbishopric. His competitors themselves desiredthe appointment, so that their own plans might have time to matureduring the few remaining days which a malady, now become chronic, might allow him. Far from offering the same hopes to rivals, Birotteau's triple chin showed to all who wanted his coveted canonryan evidence of the soundest health; even his gout seemed to them, inaccordance with the proverb, an assurance of longevity. 

The Abbe Chapeloud, a man of great good sense, whose amiability hadmade the leaders of the diocese and the members of the best society inTours seek his company, had steadily opposed, though secretly and withmuch judgment, the elevation of the Abbe Troubert. He had evenadroitly managed to prevent his access to the salons of the bestsociety. Nevertheless, during Chapeloud's lifetime Troubert treatedhim invariably with great respect, and showed him on all occasions theutmost deference. This constant submission did not, however, changethe opinion of the late canon, who said to Birotteau during the lastwalk they took together: "Distrust that lean stick of a Troubert, --Sixtus the Fifth reduced to the limits of a bishopric!"

Such was the friend, the abiding guest of Mademoiselle Gamard, who nowcame, the morning after the old maid had, as it were, declared waragainst the poor vicar, to pay his brother a visit and show him marksof friendship. 

"You must excuse Marianne, " said the canon, as the woman entered. "Isuppose she went first to my rooms. They are very damp, and I coughedall night. You are most healthily situated here, " he added, looking upat the cornice. 

"Yes; I am lodged like a canon, " replied Birotteau. 

"And I like a vicar, " said the other, humbly. 

"But you will soon be settled in the archbishop's palace, " said thekindly vicar, who wanted everybody to be happy. 

"Yes, or in the cemetery, but God's will be done!" and Troubert raisedhis eyes to heaven resignedly. "I came, " he said, "to ask you to lendme the 'Register of Bishops. ' You are the only man in Tours I know whohas a copy. "

"Take it out of my library, " replied Birotteau, reminded by thecanon's words of the greatest happiness of his life. 

The canon passed into the library and stayed there while the vicardressed. Presently the breakfast bell rang, and the gouty vicarreflected that if it had not been for Troubert's visit he would havehad no fire to dress by. "He's a kind man, " thought he. 

The two priests went downstairs together, each armed with a huge foliowhich they laid on one of the side tables in the dining-room. 

"What's all that?" asked Mademoiselle Gamard, in a sharp voice, addressing Birotteau. "I hope you are not going to litter up mydining-room with your old books!"

"They are books I wanted, " replied the Abbe Troubert. "MonsieurBirotteau has been kind enough to lend them to me. "

"I might have guessed it, " she said, with a contemptuous smile. "Monsieur Birotteau doesn't often read books of that size. "

"How are you, mademoiselle?" said the vicar, in a mellifluous voice. 

"Not very well, " she replied, shortly. "You woke me up last night outof my first sleep, and I was wakeful for the rest of the night. " Then, sitting down, she added, "Gentlemen, the milk is getting cold. "

Stupefied at being so ill-naturedly received by his landlady, fromwhom he half expected an apology, and yet alarmed, like all timidpeople at the prospect of a discussion, especially if it relates tothemselves, the poor vicar took his seat in silence. Then, observingin Mademoiselle Gamard's face the visible signs of ill-humour, he wasgoaded into a struggle between his reason, which told him that heought not to submit to such discourtesy from a landlady, and hisnatural character, which prompted him to avoid a quarrel. 

Torn by this inward misery, Birotteau fell to examining attentivelythe broad green lines painted on the oilcloth which, from customimmemorial, Mademoiselle Gamard left on the table at breakfast-time, without regard to the ragged edges or the various scars displayed onits surface. The priests sat opposite to each other in cane-seatedarm-chairs on either side of the square table, the head of which wastaken by the landlady, who seemed to dominate the whole from a highchair raised on casters, filled with cushions, and standing very nearto the dining-room stove. This room and the salon were on theground-floor beneath the salon and bedroom of the Abbe Birotteau. 

When the vicar had received his cup of coffee, duly sugared, fromMademoiselle Gamard, he felt chilled to the bone at the grim silencein which he was forced to proceed with the usually gay function ofbreakfast. He dared not look at Troubert's dried-up features, nor atthe threatening visage of the old maid; and he therefore turned, tokeep himself in countenance, to the plethoric pug which was lying on acushion near the stove, --a position that victim of obesity seldomquitted, having a little plate of dainties always at his left side, and a bowl of fresh water at his right. 

"Well, my pretty, " said the vicar, "are you waiting for your coffee?"

The personage thus addressed, one of the most important in thehousehold, though the least troublesome inasmuch as he had ceased tobark and left the talking to his mistress, turned his little eyes, sunk in rolls of fat, upon Birotteau. Then he closed them peevishly. To explain the misery of the poor vicar it should be said that beingendowed by nature with an empty and sonorous loquacity, like theresounding of a football, he was in the habit of asserting, withoutany medical reason to back him, that speech favored digestion. Mademoiselle Gamard, who believed in this hygienic doctrine, had notas yet refrained, in spite of their coolness, from talking at meals;though, for the last few mornings, the vicar had been forced to strainhis mind to find beguiling topics on which to loosen her tongue. Ifthe narrow limits of this history permitted us to report even one ofthe conversations which often brought a bitter and sarcastic smile tothe lips of the Abbe Troubert, it would offer a finished picture ofthe Boeotian life of the provinces. The singular revelations of theAbbe Birotteau and Mademoiselle Gamard relating to their personalopinions on politics, religion, and literature would delight observingminds. It would be highly entertaining to transcribe the reasons onwhich they mutually doubted the death of Napoleon in 1820, or theconjectures by which they mutually believed that the Dauphin wasliving, --rescued from the Temple in the hollow of a huge log of wood. Who could have helped laughing to hear them assert and prove, byreasons evidently their own, that the King of France alone imposed thetaxes, that the Chambers were convoked to destroy the clergy, thatthirteen hundred thousand persons had perished on the scaffold duringthe Revolution? They frequently discussed the press, without either ofthem having the faintest idea of what that modern engine really was. Monsieur Birotteau listened with acceptance to Mademoiselle Gamardwhen she told him that a man who ate an egg every morning would die ina year, and that facts proved it; that a roll of light bread eatenwithout drinking for several days together would cure sciatica; thatall the workmen who assisted in pulling down the Abbey Saint-Martinhad died in six months; that a certain prefect, under orders fromBonaparte, had done his best to damage the towers of Saint-Gatien, --with a hundred other absurd tales. 

But on this occasion poor Birotteau felt he was tongue-tied, and heresigned himself to eat a meal without engaging in conversation. Aftera while, however, the thought crossed his mind that silence wasdangerous for his digestion, and he boldly remarked, "This coffee isexcellent. "

That act of courage was completely wasted. Then, after looking at thescrap of sky visible above the garden between the two buttresses ofSaint-Gatien, the vicar again summoned nerve to say, "It will be finerweather to-day than it was yesterday. "

At that remark Mademoiselle Gamard cast her most gracious look on theAbbe Troubert, and immediately turned her eyes with terrible severityon Birotteau, who fortunately by that time was looking on his plate. 

No creature of the feminine gender was ever more capable of presentingto the mind the elegaic nature of an old maid than Mademoiselle SophieGamard. In order to describe a being whose character gives a momentousinterest to the petty events of the present drama and to the anteriorlives of the actors in it, it may be useful to give a summary of theideas which find expression in the being of an Old Maid, --rememberingalways that the habits of life form the soul, and the soul forms thephysical presence. 

Though all things in society as well as in the universe are said tohave a purpose, there do exist here below certain beings whose purposeand utility seem inexplicable. Moral philosophy and political economyboth condemn the individual who consumes without producing; who fillsa place on the earth but does not shed upon it either good or evil, --for evil is sometimes good the meaning of which is not at once mademanifest. It is seldom that old maids of their own motion enter theranks of these unproductive beings. Now, if the consciousness of workdone gives to the workers a sense of satisfaction which helps them tosupport life, the certainty of being a useless burden must, one wouldthink, produce a contrary effect, and fill the minds of such fruitlessbeings with the same contempt for themselves which they inspire inothers. This harsh social reprobation is one of the causes whichcontribute to fill the souls of old maids with the distress thatappears in their faces. Prejudice, in which there is truth, does cast, throughout the world but especially in France, a great stigma on thewoman with whom no man has been willing to share the blessings orendure the ills of life. Now, there comes to all unmarried women aperiod when the world, be it right or wrong, condemns them on the factof this contempt, this rejection. If they are ugly, the goodness oftheir characters ought to have compensated for their naturalimperfections; if, on the contrary, they are handsome, that factargues that their misfortune has some serious cause. It is impossibleto say which of the two classes is most deserving of rejection. If, onthe other hand, their celibacy is deliberate, if it proceeds from adesire for independence, neither men nor mothers will forgive theirdisloyalty to womanly devotion, evidenced in their refusal to feedthose passions which render their sex so affecting. To renounce thepangs of womanhood is to abjure its poetry and cease to merit theconsolations to which mothers have inalienable rights. 

Moreover, the generous sentiments, the exquisite qualities of a womanwill not develop unless by constant exercise. By remaining unmarried, a creature of the female sex becomes void of meaning; selfish andcold, she creates repulsion. This implacable judgment of the world isunfortunately too just to leave old maids in ignorance of its causes. Such ideas shoot up in their hearts as naturally as the effects oftheir saddened lives appear upon their features. Consequently theywither, because the constant expression of happiness which blooms onthe faces of other women and gives so soft a grace to their movementshas never existed for them. They grow sharp and peevish because allhuman beings who miss their vocation are unhappy; they suffer, andsuffering gives birth to the bitterness of ill-will. In fact, beforean old maid blames herself for her isolation she blames others, andthere is but one step between reproach and the desire for revenge. 

But more than this, the ill grace and want of charm noticeable inthese women are the necessary result of their lives. Never having felta desire to please, elegance and the refinements of good taste areforeign to them. They see only themselves in themselves. This instinctbrings them, unconsciously, to choose the things that are mostconvenient to themselves, at the sacrifice of those which might bemore agreeable to others. Without rendering account to their own mindsof the difference between themselves and other women, they end byfeeling that difference and suffering under it. Jealousy is anindelible sentiment in the female breast. An old maid's soul isjealous and yet void; for she knows but one side--the miserable side--of the only passion men will allow (because it flatters them) towomen. Thus thwarted in all their hopes, forced to deny themselves thenatural development of their natures, old maids endure an inwardtorment to which they never grow accustomed. It is hard at any age, above all for a woman, to see a feeling of repulsion on the faces ofothers, when her true destiny is to move all hearts about her toemotions of grace and love. One result of this inward trouble is thatan old maid's glance is always oblique, less from modesty than fromfear and shame. Such beings never forgive society for their falseposition because they never forgive themselves for it. 

Now it is impossible for a woman who is perpetually at war withherself and living in contradiction to her true life, to leave othersin peace or refrain from envying their happines. The whole range ofthese sad truths could be read in the dulled gray eyes of MademoiselleGamard; the dark circles that surrounded those eyes told of the inwardconflicts of her solitary life. All the wrinkles on her face were instraight lines. The structure of her forehead and cheeks was rigid andprominent. She allowed, with apparent indifference, certain scatteredhairs, once brown, to grow upon her chin. Her thin lips scarcelycovered teeth that were too long, though still quite white. Hercomplexion was dark, and her hair, originally black, had turned grayfrom frightful headaches, --a misfortune which obliged her to wear afalse front. Not knowing how to put it on so as to conceal thejunction between the real and the false, there were often little gapsbetween the border of her cap and the black string with which thissemi-wig (always badly curled) was fastened to her head. Her gown, silk in summer, merino in winter, and always brown in color, wasinvariably rather tight for her angular figure and thin arms. Hercollar, limp and bent, exposed too much the red skin of a neck whichwas ribbed like an oak-leaf in winter seen in the light. Her originexplains to some extent the defects of her conformation. She was thedaughter of a wood-merchant, a peasant, who had risen from the ranks. She might have been plump at eighteen, but no trace remained of thefair complexion and pretty color of which she was wont to boast. Thetones of her flesh had taken the pallid tints so often seen in"devotes. " Her aquiline nose was the feature that chiefly proclaimedthe despotism of her nature, and the flat shape of her forehead thenarrowness of her mind. Her movements had an odd abruptness whichprecluded all grace; the mere motion with which she twitched herhandkerchief from her bag and blew her nose with a loud noise wouldhave shown her character and habits to a keen observer. Being rathertall, she held herself very erect, and justified the remark of anaturalist who once explained the peculiar gait of old maids bydeclaring that their joints were consolidating. When she walked hermovements were not equally distributed over her whole person, as theyare in other women, producing those graceful undulations which are soattractive. She moved, so to speak, in a single block, seeming toadvance at each step like the statue of the Commendatore. When shefelt in good humour she was apt, like other old maids, to tell of thechances she had had to marry, and of her fortunate discovery in timeof the want of means of her lovers, --proving, unconsciously, that herworldly judgment was better than her heart. 

This typical figure of the genus Old Maid was well framed by thegrotesque designs, representing Turkish landscapes, on a varnishedpaper which decorated the walls of the dining-room. MademoiselleGamard usually sat in this room, which boasted of two pier tables anda barometer. Before the chair of each abbe was a little cushioncovered with worsted work, the colors of which were faded. The salonin which she received company was worthy of its mistress. It will bevisible to the eye at once when we state that it went by the name ofthe "yellow salon. " The curtains were yellow, the furniture and wallsyellow; on the mantelpiece, surmounted by a mirror in a gilt frame, the candlesticks and a clock all of crystal struck the eye with sharpbrilliancy. As to the private apartment of Mademoiselle Gamard, no onehad ever been permitted to look into it. Conjecture alone suggestedthat it was full of odds and ends, worn-out furniture, and bits ofstuff and pieces dear to the hearts of all old maids. 

Such was the woman destined to exert a vast influence on the lastyears of the Abbe Birotteau. 

For want of exercising in nature's own way the activity bestowed uponwomen, and yet impelled to spend it in some way or other, MademoiselleGamard had acquired the habit of using it in petty intrigues, provincial cabals, and those self-seeking schemes which occupy, sooneror later, the lives of all old maids. Birotteau, unhappily, haddeveloped in Sophie Gamard the only sentiments which it was possiblefor that poor creature to feel, --those of hatred; a passion hithertolatent under the calmness and monotony of provincial life, but whichwas now to become the more intense because it was spent on pettythings and in the midst of a narrow sphere. Birotteau was one of thosebeings who are predestined to suffer because, being unable to seethings, they cannot avoid them; to them the worst happens. 

"Yes, it will be a fine day, " replied the canon, after a pause, apparently issuing from a revery and wishing to conform to the rulesof politeness. 

Birotteau, frightened at the length of time which had elapsed betweenthe question and the answer, --for he had, for the first time in hislife, taken his coffee without uttering a word, --now left thedining-room where his heart was squeezed as if in a vise. Feeling thatthe coffee lay heavy on his stomach, he went to walk in a sad moodamong the narrow, box-edged garden paths which outlined a star in thelittle garden. As he turned after making the first round, he sawMademoiselle Gamard and the Abbe Troubert standing stock-still andsilent on the threshold of the door, --he with his arms folded andmotionless like a statue on a tomb; she leaning against the blind door. Both seemed to be gazing at him and counting his steps. Nothing is soembarrassing to a creature naturally timid as to feel itself the objectof a close examination, and if that is made by the eyes of hatred, thesort of suffering it causes is changed into intolerable martyrdom. 

Presently Birotteau fancied he was preventing Mademoiselle Gamard andthe abbe from walking in the narrow path. That idea, inspired equallyby fear and kindness, became so strong that he left the garden andwent to the church, thinking no longer of his canonry, so absorbed washe by the disheartening tyranny of the old maid. Luckily for him hehappened to find much to do at Saint-Gatien, --several funerals, amarriage, and two baptisms. Thus employed he forgot his griefs. Whenhis stomach told him that dinner was ready he drew out his watch andsaw, not without alarm, that it was some minutes after four. Beingwell aware of Mademoiselle Gamard's punctuality, he hurried back tothe house. 

He saw at once on passing the kitchen door that the first course hadbeen removed. When he reached the dining-room the old maid said, witha tone of voice in which were mingled sour rebuke and joy at beingable to blame him:--

"It is half-past four, Monsieur Birotteau. You know we are not to waitfor you. "

The vicar looked at the clock in the dining-room, and saw at once, bythe way the gauze which protected it from dust had been moved, thathis landlady had opened the face of the dial and set the hands inadvance of the clock of the cathedral. He could make no remark. Had heuttered his suspicion it would only have caused and apparentlyjustified one of those fierce and eloquent expositions to whichMademoiselle Gamard, like other women of her class, knew very well howto give vent in particular cases. The thousand and one annoyanceswhich a servant will sometimes make her master bear, or a woman herhusband, were instinctively divined by Mademoiselle Gamard and usedupon Birotteau. The way in which she delighted in plotting against thepoor vicar's domestic comfort bore all the marks of what we must calla profoundly malignant genius. Yet she so managed that she was never, so far as eye could see, in the wrong. 

 III

Eight days after the date on which this history began, the newarrangements of the household and the relations which grew up betweenthe Abbe Birotteau and Mademoiselle Gamard revealed to the former theexistence of a plot which had been hatching for the last six months. 

As long as the old maid exercised her vengeance in an underhand way, and the vicar was able to shut his eyes to it and refuse to believe inher malevolent intentions, the moral effect upon him was slight. Butsince the affair of the candlestick and the altered clock, Birotteauwould doubt no longer that he was under an eye of hatred turned fullyupon him. From that moment he fell into despair, seeing everywhere theskinny, clawlike fingers of Mademoiselle Gamard ready to hook into hisheart. The old maid, happy in a sentiment as fruitful of emotions asthat of vengeance, enjoyed circling and swooping above the vicar as abird of prey hovers and swoops above a field-mouse before pouncingdown upon it and devouring it. She had long since laid a plan whichthe poor dumbfounded priest was quite incapable of imagining, andwhich she now proceeded to unfold with that genius for little thingsoften shown by solitary persons, whose souls, incapable of feeling thegrandeur of true piety, fling themselves into the details of outwarddevotion. 

The petty nature of his troubles prevented Birotteau, always effusiveand liking to be pitied and consoled, from enjoying the soothingpleasure of taking his friends into his confidence, --a last but cruelaggravation of his misery. The little amount of tact which he derivedfrom his timidity made him fear to seem ridiculous in concerninghimself with such pettiness. And yet those petty things made up thesum of his existence, --that cherished existence, full of busynessabout nothings, and of nothingness in its business; a colorless barrenlife in which strong feelings were misfortunes, and the absence ofemotion happiness. The poor priest's paradise was changed, in amoment, into hell. His sufferings became intolerable. The terror hefelt at the prospect of a discussion with Mademoiselle Gamardincreased day by day; the secret distress which blighted his lifebegan to injure his health. One morning, as he put on his mottled bluestockings, he noticed a marked dimunition in the circumference of hiscalves. Horrified by so cruel and undeniable a symptom, he resolved tomake an effort and appeal to the Abbe Troubert, requesting him tointervene, officially, between Mademoiselle Gamard and himself. 

When he found himself in presence of the imposing canon, who, in orderto receive his visitor in a bare and cheerless room, had hastilyquitted a study full of papers, where he worked incessantly, and whereno one was ever admitted, the vicar felt half ashamed at speaking ofMademoiselle Gamard's provocations to a man who appeared to be sogravely occupied. But after going through the agony of the mentaldeliberations which all humble, undecided, and feeble persons endureabout things of even no importance, he decided, not without muchswelling and beating of the heart, to explain his position to the AbbeTroubert. 

The canon listened in a cold, grave manner, trying, but in vain, torepress an occasional smile which to more intelligent eyes than thoseof the vicar might have betrayed the emotions of a secretsatisfaction. A flame seemed to dart from his eyelids when Birotteaupictured with the eloquence of genuine feeling the constant bitternesshe was made to swallow; but Troubert laid his hand above those lidswith a gesture very common to thinkers, maintaining the dignifieddemeanor which was usual with him. When the vicar had ceased to speakhe would indeed have been puzzled had he sought on Troubert's face, marbled with yellow blotches even more yellow than his usually biliousskin, for any trace of the feelings he must have excited in thatmysterious priest. 

After a moment's silence the canon made one of those answers whichrequired long study before their meaning could be thoroughlyperceived, though later they proved to reflecting persons theastonishing depths of his spirit and the power of his mind. He simplycrushed Birotteau by telling him that "these things amazed him all themore because he should never have suspected their existence were itnot for his brother's confession. He attributed such stupidity on hispart to the gravity of his occupations, his labors, the absorption inwhich his mind was held by certain elevated thoughts which preventedhis taking due notice of the petty details of life. " He made the vicarobserve, but without appearing to censure the conduct of a man whoseage and connections deserved all respect, that "in former days, recluses thought little about their food and lodging in the solitudeof their retreats, where they were lost in holy contemplations, " andthat "in our days, priests could make a retreat for themselves in thesolitude of their own hearts. " Then, reverting to Birotteau's affairs, he added that "such disagreements were a novelty to him. For twelveyears nothing of the kind had occurred between Mademoiselle Gamard andthe venerable Abbe Chapeloud. As for himself, he might, no doubt, bean arbitrator between the vicar and their landlady, because hisfriendship for that person had never gone beyond the limits imposed bythe Church on her faithful servants; but if so, justice demanded thathe should hear both sides. He certainly saw no change in MademoiselleGamard, who seemed to him the same as ever; he had always submitted toa few of her caprices, knowing that the excellent woman was kindnessand gentleness itself; the slight fluctuations of her temper should beattributed, he thought, to sufferings caused by a pulmonary affection, of which she said little, resigning herself to bear them in a trulyChristian spirit. " He ended by assuring the vicar that "if he stayed afew years longer in Mademoiselle Gamard's house he would learn tounderstand her better and acknowledge the real value of her excellentnature. "

Birotteau left the room confounded. In the direful necessity ofconsulting no one, he now judged Mademoiselle Gamard as he wouldhimself, and the poor man fancied that if he left her house for a fewdays he might extinguish, for want of fuel, the dislike the old maidfelt for him. He accordingly resolved to spend, as he formerly did, aweek or so at a country-house where Madame de Listomere passed herautumns, a season when the sky is usually pure and tender in Touraine. Poor man! in so doing he did the thing that was most desired by histerrible enemy, whose plans could only have been brought to nought bythe resistant patience of a monk. But the vicar, unable to divinethem, not understanding even his own affairs, was doomed to fall, likea lamb, at the butcher's first blow. 

Madame de Listomere's country-place, situated on the embankment whichlies between Tours and the heights of Saint-Georges, with a southernexposure and surrounded by rocks, combined the charms of the countrywith the pleasures of the town. It took but ten minutes from thebridge of Tours to reach the house, which was called the "Alouette, "--a great advantage in a region where no one will put himself out foranything whatsoever, not even to seek a pleasure. 

The Abbe Birotteau had been about ten days at the Alouette, when, onemorning while he was breakfasting, the porter came to say thatMonsieur Caron desired to speak with him. Monsieur Caron wasMademoiselle Gamard's laywer, and had charge of her affairs. Birotteau, not remembering this, and unable to think of any matter oflitigation between himself and others, left the table to see thelawyer in a stage of great agitation. He found him modestly seated onthe balustrade of a terrace. 

"Your intention of ceasing to reside in Mademoiselle Gamard's housebeing made evident--" began the man of business. 

"Eh! monsieur, " cried the Abbe Birotteau, interrupting him, "I havenot the slightest intention of leaving it. "

"Nevertheless, monsieur, " replied the lawyer, "you must have had someagreement in the matter with Mademoiselle, for she has sent me to askhow long you intend to remain in the country. The event of a longabsence was not foreseen in the agreement, and may lead to a contest. Now, Mademoiselle Gamard understanding that your board--"

"Monsieur, " said Birotteau, amazed, and again interrupting the lawyer, "I did not suppose it necessary to employ, as it were, legal meansto--"

"Mademoiselle Gamard, who is anxious to avoid all dispute, " saidMonsieur Caron, "has sent me to come to an understanding with you. "

"Well, if you will have the goodness to return to-morrow, " said theabbe, "I shall then have taken advice in the matter. "

The quill-driver withdrew. The poor vicar, frightened at thepersistence with which Mademoiselle Gamard pursued him, returned tothe dining-room with his face so convulsed that everybody cried outwhen they saw him: "What _is_ the matter, Monsieur Birotteau?"

The abbe, in despair, sat down without a word, so crushed was he bythe vague presence of approaching disaster. But after breakfast, whenhis friends gathered round him before a comfortable fire, Birotteaunaively related the history of his troubles. His hearers, who werebeginning to weary of the monotony of a country-house, were keenlyinterested in a plot so thoroughly in keeping with the life of theprovinces. They all took sides with the abbe against the old maid. 

"Don't you see, my dear friend, " said Madame de Listomere, "that theAbbe Troubert wants your apartment?"

Here the historian ought to sketch this lady; but it occurs to himthat even those who are ignorant of Sterne's system of "cognomology, "cannot pronounce the three words "Madame de Listomere" withoutpicturing her to themselves as noble and dignified, softening thesternness of rigid devotion by the gracious elegance and the courteousmanners of the old monarchical regime; kind, but a little stiff;slightly nasal in voice; allowing herself the perusal of "La NouvelleHeloise"; and still wearing her own hair. 

"The Abbe Birotteau must not yield to that old vixen, " cried Monsieurde Listomere, a lieutenant in the navy who was spending a furloughwith his aunt. "If the vicar has pluck and will follow my suggestionshe will soon recover his tranquillity. "

All present began to analyze the conduct of Mademoiselle Gamard withthe keen perceptions which characterize provincials, to whom no onecan deny the talent of knowing how to lay bare the most secret motivesof human actions. 

"You don't see the whole thing yet, " said an old landowner who knewthe region well. "There is something serious behind all this which Ican't yet make out. The Abbe Troubert is too deep to be fathomed atonce. Our dear Birotteau is at the beginning of his troubles. Besides, would he be left in peace and comfort even if he did give up hislodging to Troubert? I doubt it. If Caron came here to tell you thatyou intended to leave Mademoiselle Gamard, " he added, turning to thebewildered priest, "no doubt Mademoiselle Gamard's intention is toturn you out. Therefore you will have to go, whether you like it ornot. Her sort of people play a sure game, they risk nothing. "

This old gentleman, Monsieur de Bourbonne, could sum up and estimateprovincial ideas as correctly as Voltaire summarized the spirit of histimes. He was thin and tall, and chose to exhibit in the matter ofclothes the quiet indifference of a landowner whose territorial valueis quoted in the department. His face, tanned by the Touraine sun, wasless intellectual than shrewd. Accustomed to weigh his words andmeasure his actions, he concealed a profound vigilance behind amisleading appearance of simplicity. A very slight observation of himsufficed to show that, like a Norman peasant, he invariably held theupper hand in business matters. He was an authority on wine-making, the leading science of Touraine. He had managed to extend the meadowlands of his domain by taking in a part of the alluvial soil of theLoire without getting into difficulties with the State. This cleverproceeding gave him the reputation of a man of talent. If Monsieur deBourbonne's conversation pleased you and you were to ask who he was ofa Tourainean, "Ho! a sly old fox!" would be the answer of those whowere envious of him--and they were many. In Touraine, as in many ofthe provinces, jealousy is the root of language. 

Monsieur de Bourbonne's remark occasioned a momentary silence, duringwhich the persons who composed the little party seemed to bereflecting. Meanwhile Mademoiselle Salomon de Villenoix was announced. She came from Tours in the hope of being useful to the poor abbe, andthe news she brought completely changed the aspect of the affair. Asshe entered, every one except Monsieur de Bourbonne was urgingBirotteau to hold his own against Troubert and Gamard, under theauspices of the aristocractic society of the place, which wouldcertainly stand by him. 

"The vicar-general, to whom the appointments to office are entrusted, is very ill, " said Mademoiselle Salomon, "and the archbishop hasdelegated his powers to the Abbe Troubert provisionally. The canonrywill, of course, depend wholly upon him. Now last evening, atMademoiselle de la Blottiere's the Abbe Poirel talked about theannoyances which the Abbe Birotteau had inflicted on MademoiselleGamard, as though he were trying to cast all the blame on our goodabbe. 'The Abbe Birotteau, ' he said, 'is a man to whom the AbbeChapeloud was absolutely necessary, and since the death of thatvenerable man, he has shown'--and then came suggestions, calumnies!you understand?"

"Troubert will be made vicar-general, " said Monsieur de Bourbonne, sententiously. 

"Come!" cried Madame de Listomere, turning to Birotteau, "which do youprefer, to be made a canon, or continue to live with MademoiselleGamard?"

"To be a canon!" cried the whole company. 

"Well, then, " resumed Madame de Listomere, "you must let the AbbeTroubert and Mademoiselle Gamard have things their own way. By sendingCaron here they mean to let you know indirectly that if you consent toleave the house you shall be made canon, --one good turn deservesanother. "

Every one present applauded Madame de Listomere's sagacity, except hernephew the Baron de Listomere, who remarked in a comic tone toMonsieur de Bourbonne, "I would like to have seen a fight between theGamard and the Birotteau. "

But, unhappily for the vicar, forces were not equal between thesepersons of the best society and the old maid supported by the AbbeTroubert. The time soon came when the struggle developed openly, wenton increasing, and finally assumed immense proportions. By the adviceof Madame de Listomere and most of her friends, who were now eagerlyenlisted in a matter which threw such excitement into their vapidprovincial lives, a servant was sent to bring back Monsieur Caron. Thelawyer returned with surprising celerity, which alarmed no one butMonsieur de Bourbonne. 

"Let us postpone all decision until we are better informed, " was theadvice of that Fabius in a dressing-gown, whose prudent reflectionsrevealed to him the meaning of these moves on the Touraineanchess-board. He tried to enlighten Birotteau on the dangers of hisposition; but the wisdom of the old "sly-boots" did not serve thepassions of the moment, and he obtained but little attention. 

The conference between the lawyer and Birotteau was short. The vicarcame back quite terrified. 

"He wants me to sign a paper stating my relinquishment of domicile. "

"That's formidable language!" said the naval lieutenant. 

"What does it mean?" asked Madame de Listomere. 

"Merely that the abbe must declare in writing his intention of leavingMademoiselle Gamard's house, " said Monsieur de Bourbonne, taking apinch of snuff. 

"Is that all?" said Madame de Listomere. "Then sign it at once, " sheadded, turning to Birotteau. "If you positively decide to leave herhouse, there can be no harm in declaring that such is your will. "

Birotteau's will!

"That is true, " said Monsieur de Bourbonne, closing his snuff-box witha gesture the significance of which it is impossible to render, for itwas a language in itself. "But writing is always dangerous, " he added, putting his snuff-box on the mantelpiece with an air and manner thatalarmed the vicar. 

Birotteau was so bewildered by the upsetting of all his ideas, by therapidity of events which found him defenceless, by the ease with whichhis friends were settling the most cherished matters of his solitarylife, that he remained silent and motionless as if moonstruck, thinking of nothing, though listening and striving to understand themeaning of the rapid sentences the assembled company addressed to him. He took the paper Monsieur Caron had given him and read it, as if hewere giving his mind to the lawyer's document, but the act was merelymechanical. He signed the paper, by which he declared that he leftMademoiselle Gamard's house of his own wish and will, and that he hadbeen fed and lodged while there according to the terms originallyagreed upon. When the vicar had signed the document, Monsieur Carontook it and asked where his client was to send the things left by theabbe in her house and belonging to him. Birotteau replied that theycould be sent to Madame de Listomere's, --that lady making him a signthat she would receive him, never doubting that he would soon be acanon. Monsieur de Bourbonne asked to see the paper, the deed ofrelinquishment, which the abbe had just signed. Monsieur Caron gave itto him. 

"How is this?" he said to the vicar after reading it. "It appears thatwritten documents already exist between you and Mademoiselle Gamard. Where are they? and what do they stipulate?"

"The deed is in my library, " replied Birotteau. 

"Do you know the tenor of it?" said Monsieur de Bourbonne to thelawyer. 

"No, monsieur, " said Caron, stretching out his hand to regain thefatal document. 

"Ha!" thought the old man; "you know, my good friend, what that deedcontains, but you are not paid to tell us, " and he returned the paperto the lawyer. 

"Where can I put my things?" cried Birotteau; "my books, my beautifulbook-shelves, and pictures, my red furniture, and all my treasures?"

The helpless despair of the poor man thus torn up as it were by theroots was so artless, it showed so plainly the purity of his ways andhis ignorance of the things of life, that Madame de Listomere andMademoiselle de Salomon talked to him and consoled him in the tonewhich mothers take when they promise a plaything to their children. 

"Don't fret about such trifles, " they said. "We will find you someplace less cold and dismal than Mademoiselle Gamard's gloomy house. Ifwe can't find anything you like, one or other of us will take you tolive with us. Come, let's play a game of backgammon. To-morrow you cango and see the Abbe Troubert and ask him to push your claims to thecanonry, and you'll see how cordially he will receive you. "

Feeble folk are as easily reassured as they are frightened. So thepoor abbe, dazzled at the prospect of living with Madame de Listomere, forgot the destruction, now completed, of the happiness he had so longdesired, and so delightfully enjoyed. But at night before going tosleep, the distress of a man to whom the fuss of moving and thebreaking up of all his habits was like the end of the world, came uponhim, and he racked his brains to imagine how he could ever find such agood place for his book-case as the gallery in the old maid's house. Fancying he saw his books scattered about, his furniture defaced, hisregular life turned topsy-turvy, he asked himself for the thousandthtime why the first year spent in Mademoiselle Gamard's house had beenso sweet, the second so cruel. His troubles were a pit in which hisreason floundered. The canonry seemed to him small compensation for somuch misery, and he compared his life to a stocking in which a singledropped stitch resulted in destroying the whole fabric. MademoiselleSalomon remained to him. But, alas, in losing his old illusions thepoor priest dared not trust in any later friendship. 

In the "citta dolente" of spinsterhood we often meet, especially inFrance, with women whose lives are a sacrifice nobly and daily offeredto noble sentiments. Some remain proudly faithful to a heart whichdeath tore from them; martyrs of love, they learn the secrets ofwomanhood only though their souls. Others obey some family pride(which in our days, and to our shame, decreases steadily); thesedevote themselves to the welfare of a brother, or to orphan nephews;they are mothers while remaining virgins. Such old maids attain to thehighest heroism of their sex by consecrating all feminine feelings tothe help of sorrow. They idealize womanhood by renouncing the rewardsof woman's destiny, accepting its pains. They live surrounded by thesplendour of their devotion, and men respectfully bow the head beforetheir faded features. Mademoiselle de Sombreuil was neither wife normaid; she was and ever will be a living poem. Mademoiselle Salomon deVillenoix belonged to the race of these heroic beings. Her devotionwas religiously sublime, inasmuch as it won her no glory after being, for years, a daily agony. Beautiful and young, she loved and wasbeloved; her lover lost his reason. For five years she gave herself, with love's devotion, to the mere mechanical well-being of thatunhappy man, whose madness she so penetrated that she never believedhim mad. She was simple in manner, frank in speech, and her pallidface was not lacking in strength and character, though its featureswere regular. She never spoke of the events of her life. But at timesa sudden quiver passed over her as she listened to the story of somesad or dreadful incident, thus betraying the emotions that greatsufferings had developed within her. She had come to live at Toursafter losing the companion of her life; but she was not appreciatedthere at her true value and was thought to be merely an amiable woman. She did much good, and attached herself, by preference, to feeblebeings. For that reason the poor vicar had naturally inspired her witha deep interest. 

Mademoiselle de Villenoix, who returned to Tours the next morning, took Birotteau with her and set him down on the quay of the cathedralleaving him to make his own way to the Cloister, where he was bent ongoing, to save at least the canonry and to superintend the removal ofhis furniture. He rang, not without violent palpitations of the heart, at the door of the house whither, for fourteen years, he had comedaily, and where he had lived blissfully, and from which he was nowexiled forever, after dreaming that he should die there in peace likehis friend Chapeloud. Marianne was surprised at the vicar's visit. Hetold her that he had come to see the Abbe Troubert, and turned towardsthe ground-floor apartment where the canon lived; but Marianne calledto him:--

"Not there, monsieur le vicaire; the Abbe Troubert is in your oldapartment. "

These words gave the vicar a frightful shock. He was forced tocomprehend both Troubert's character and the depths of the revenge soslowly brought about when he found the canon settled in Chapeloud'slibrary, seated in Chapeloud's handsome armchair, sleeping, no doubt, in Chapeloud's bed, and disinheriting at last the friend of Chapeloud, the man who, for so many years, had confined him to MademoiselleGamard's house, by preventing his advancement in the church, andclosing the best salons in Tours against him. By what magic wand hadthe present transformation taken place? Surely these things belongedto Birotteau? And yet, observing the sardonic air with which Troubertglanced at that bookcase, the poor abbe knew that the futurevicar-general felt certain of possessing the spoils of those he had sobitterly hated, --Chapeloud as an enemy, and Birotteau, in and throughwhom Chapeloud still thwarted him. Ideas rose in the heart of the poorman at the sight, and plunged him into a sort of vision. He stoodmotionless, as though fascinated by Troubert's eyes which fixedthemselves upon him. 

"I do not suppose, monsieur, " said Birotteau at last, "that you intendto deprive me of the things that belong to me. Mademoiselle may havebeen impatient to give you better lodgings, but she ought to have beensufficiently just to give me time to pack my books and remove myfurniture. "

"Monsieur, " said the Abbe Troubert, coldly, not permitting any sign ofemotion to appear on his face, "Mademoiselle Gamard told me yesterdayof your departure, the cause of which is still unknown to me. If sheinstalled me here at once, it was from necessity. The Abbe Poirel hastaken my apartment. I do not know if the furniture and things that arein these rooms belong to you or to Mademoiselle; but if they areyours, you know her scrupulous honesty; the sanctity of her life isthe guarantee of her rectitude. As for me, you are well aware of mysimple modes of living. I have slept for fifteen years in a bare roomwithout complaining of the dampness, --which, eventually will havecaused my death. Nevertheless, if you wish to return to this apartmentI will cede it to you willingly. "

After hearing these terrible words, Birotteau forgot the canonry andran downstairs as quickly as a young man to find Mademoiselle Gamard. He met her at the foot of the staircase, on the broad, tiled landingwhich united the two wings of the house. 

"Mademoiselle, " he said, bowing to her without paying any attention tothe bitter and derisive smile that was on her lips, nor to theextraordinary flame in her eyes which made them lucent as a tiger's, "I cannot understand how it is that you have not waited until Iremoved my furniture before--"

"What!" she said, interrupting him, "is it possible that your thingshave not been left at Madame de Listomere's?"

"But my furniture?"

"Haven't you read your deed?" said the old maid, in a tone which wouldhave to be rendered in music before the shades of meaning that hatredis able to put into the accent of every word could be fully shown. 

Mademoiselle Gamard seemed to rise in stature, her eyes shone, herface expanded, her whole person quivered with pleasure. The AbbeTroubert opened a window to get a better light on the folio volume hewas reading. Birotteau stood as if a thunderbolt had stricken him. Mademoiselle Gamard made his ears hum when she enunciated in a voiceas clear as a cornet the following sentence:--

"Was it not agreed that if you left my house your furniture shouldbelong to me, to indemnify me for the difference in the price of boardpaid by you and that paid by the late venerable Abbe Chapeloud? Now, as the Abbe Poirel has just been appointed canon--"

Hearing the last words Birotteau made a feeble bow as if to take leaveof the old maid, and left the house precipitately. He was afraid if hestayed longer that he should break down utterly, and give too great atriumph to his implacable enemies. Walking like a dunken man he atlast reached Madame de Listomere's house, where he found in one of thelower rooms his linen, his clothing, and all his papers packed in atrunk. When he eyes fell on these few remnants of his possessions theunhappy priest sat down and hid his face in his hands to conceal histears from the sight of others. The Abbe Poirel was canon! He, Birotteau, had neither home, nor means, nor furniture!

Fortunately Mademoiselle Salomon happened to drive past the house, andthe porter, who saw and comprehended the despair of the poor abbe, made a sign to the coachman. After exchanging a few words withMademoiselle Salomon the porter persuaded the vicar to let himself beplaced, half dead as he was, in the carriage of his faithful friend, to whom he was unable to speak connectedly. Mademoiselle Salomon, alarmed at the momentary derangement of a head that was always feeble, took him back at once to the Alouette, believing that this beginningof mental alienation was an effect produced by the sudden news of AbbePoirel's nomination. She knew nothing, of course, of the fatalagreement made by the abbe with Mademoiselle Gamard, for the excellentreason that he did not know of it himself; and because it is in thenature of things that the comical is often mingled with the pathetic, the singular replies of the poor abbe made her smile. 

"Chapeloud was right, " he said; "he is a monster!"

"Who?" she asked. 

"Chapeloud. He has taken all. "

"You mean Poirel?"

"No, Troubert. "

At last they reached the Alouette, where the priest's friends gave himsuch tender care that towards evening he grew calmer and was able togive them an account of what had happened during the morning. 

The phlegmatic old fox asked to see the deed which, on thinking thematter over, seemed to him to contain the solution of the enigma. Birotteau drew the fatal stamped paper from his pocket and gave it toMonsieur de Bourbonne, who read it rapidly and soon came upon thefollowing clause:--

"Whereas a difference exists of eight hundred francs yearly betweenthe price of board paid by the late Abbe Chapeloud and that at whichthe said Sophie Gamard agrees to take into her house, on theabove-named stipulated condition, the said Francois Birotteau; andwhereas it is understood that the undersigned Francois Birotteau isnot able for some years to pay the full price charged to the otherboarders of Mademoiselle Gamard, more especially the Abbe Troubert;the said Birotteau does hereby engage, in consideration of certainsums of money advanced by the undersigned Sophie Gamard, to leave her, as indemnity, all the household property of which he may die possessed, or to transfer the same to her should he, for any reason whatever orat any time, voluntarily give up the apartment now leased to him, andthus derive no further profit from the above-named engagements made byMademoiselle Gamard for his benefit--"

"Confound her! what an agreement!" cried the old gentleman. "The saidSophie Gamard is armed with claws. "

Poor Birotteau never imagined in his childish brain that anythingcould ever separate him from that house where he expected to live anddie with Mademoiselle Gamard. He had no remembrance whatever of thatclause, the terms of which he had not discussed, for they had seemedquite just to him at a time when, in his great anxiety to enter theold maid's house, he would readily have signed any and all legaldocuments she had offered him. His simplicity was so guileless andMademoiselle Gamard's conduct so atrocious, the fate of the poor oldman seemed so deplorable, and his natural helplessness made him sotouching, that in the first glow of her indignation Madame deListomere exclaimed: "I made you put your signature to that documentwhich has ruined you; I am bound to give you back the happiness ofwhich I have deprived you. "

"But, " remarked Monsieur de Bourbonne, "that deed constitutes a fraud;there may be ground for a lawsuit. "

"Then Birotteau shall go to the law. If he loses at Tours he may winat Orleans; if he loses at Orleans, he'll win in Paris, " cried theBaron de Listomere. 

"But if he does go to law, " continued Monsieur de Bourbonne, coldly, "I should advise him to resign his vicariat. "

"We will consult lawyers, " said Madame de Listomere, "and go to law iflaw is best. But this affair is so disgraceful for MademoiselleGamard, and is likely to be so injurious to the Abbe Troubert, that Ithink we can compromise. "

After mature deliberation all present promised their assistance to theAbbe Birotteau in the struggle which was now inevitable between thepoor priest and his antagonists and all their adherents. A truepresentiment, an infallible provincial instinct, led them to couplethe names of Gamard and Troubert. But none of the persons assembled onthis occasion in Madame de Listomere's salon, except the old fox, hadany real idea of the nature and importance of such a struggle. Monsieur de Bourbonne took the poor abbe aside into a corner of theroom. 

"Of the fourteen persons now present, " he said, in a low voice, "notone will stand by you a fortnight hence. If the time comes when youneed some one to support you you may find that I am the only person inTours bold enough to take up your defence; for I know the provincesand men and things, and, better still, I know self-interests. Butthese friends of yours, though full of the best intentions, areleading you astray into a bad path, from which you won't be able toextricate yourself. Take my advice; if you want to live in peace, resign the vicariat of Saint-Gatien and leave Tours. Don't say whereyou are going, but find some distant parish where Troubert cannot gethold of you. "

"Leave Tours!" exclaimed the vicar, with indescribable terror. 

To him it was a kind of death; the tearing up of all the roots bywhich he held to life. Celibates substitute habits for feelings; andwhen to that moral system, which makes them pass through life insteadof really living it, is added a feeble character, external thingsassume an extraordinary power over them. Birotteau was like certainvegetables; transplant them, and you stop their ripening. Just as atree needs daily the same sustenance, and must always send its rootsinto the same soil, so Birotteau needed to trot about Saint-Gatien, and amble along the Mail where he took his daily walk, and saunterthrough the streets, and visit the three salons where, night afternight, he played his whist or his backgammon. 

"Ah! I did not think of it!" replied Monsieur de Bourbonne, gazing atthe priest with a sort of pity. 

All Tours was soon aware that Madame la Baronne de Listomere, widow ofa lieutenant-general, had invited the Abbe Birotteau, vicar ofSaint-Gatien, to stay at her house. That act, which many personsquestioned, presented the matter sharply and divided the town intoparties, especially after Mademoiselle Salomon spoke openly of a fraudand a lawsuit. With the subtle vanity which is common to old maids, andthe fanatic self-love which characterizes them, Mademoiselle Gamard wasdeeply wounded by the course taken by Madame de Listomere. Thebaroness was a woman of high rank, elegant in her habits and ways, whose good taste, courteous manners, and true piety could not begainsaid. By receivng Birotteau as her guest she gave a formal denialto all Mademoiselle Gamard's assertions, and indirectly censured herconduct by maintaining the vicar's cause against his former landlady. 

It is necessary for the full understanding of this history to explainhow the natural discernment and spirit of analysis which old womenbring to bear on the actions of others gave power to MademoiselleGamard, and what were the resources on her side. Accompanied by thetaciturn Abbe Troubert she made a round of evening visits to five orsix houses, at each of which she met a circle of a dozen or morepersons, united by kindred tastes and the same general situation inlife. Among them were one or two men who were influenced by the gossipand prejudices of their servants; five or six old maids who spenttheir time in sifting the words and scrutinizing the actions of theirneighbours and others in the class below them; besides these, therewere several old women who busied themselves in retailing scandal, keeping an exact account of each person's fortune, striving to controlor influence the actions of others, prognosticating marriages, andblaming the conduct of friends as sharply as that of enemies. Thesepersons, spread about the town like the capillary fibres of a plant, sucked in, with the thirst of a leaf for the dew, the news and thesecrets of each household, and transmitted them mechanically to theAbbe Troubert, as the leaves convey to the branch the moisture theyabsorb. 

Accordingly, during every evening of the week, these good devotees, excited by that need of emotion which exists in all of us, rendered anexact account of the current condition of the town with a sagacityworthy of the Council of Ten, and were, in fact, a species of police, armed with the unerring gift of spying bestowed by passions. When theyhad divined the secret meaning of some event their vanity led them toappropriate to themselves the wisdom of their sanhedrim, and set thetone to the gossip of their respective spheres. This idle but everbusy fraternity, invisible, yet seeing all things, dumb, butperpetually talking, possessed an influence which its nonentity seemedto render harmless, though it was in fact terrible in its effects whenit concerned itself with serious interests. For a long time nothinghad entered the sphere of these existences so serious and so momentousto each one of them as the struggle of Birotteau, supported by Madamede Listomere, against Mademoiselle Gamard and the Abbe Troubert. Thethree salons of Madame de Listomere and the Demoiselles Merlin de laBlottiere and de Villenoix being considered as enemies by all thesalons which Mademoiselle Gamard frequented, there was at the bottomof the quarrel a class sentiment with all its jealousies. It was theold Roman struggle of people and senate in a molehill, a tempest in ateacup, as Montesquieu remarked when speaking of the Republic of SanMarino, whose public offices are filled by the day only, --despoticpower being easily seized by any citizen. 

But this tempest, petty as it seems, did develop in the souls of thesepersons as many passions as would have been called forth by thehighest social interests. It is a mistake to think that none but soulsconcerned in mighty projects, which stir their lives and set themfoaming, find time too fleeting. The hours of the Abbe Troubert fledby as eagerly, laden with thoughts as anxious, harassed by despairsand hopes as deep as the cruellest hours of the gambler, the lover, orthe statesman. God alone is in the secret of the energy we expend uponour occult triumphs over man, over things, over ourselves. Though weknow not always whither we are going we know well what the journeycosts us. If it be permissible for the historian to turn aside for amoment from the drama he is narrating and ask his readers to cast aglance upon the lives of these old maids and abbes, and seek the causeof the evil which vitiates them at their source, we may find itdemonstrated that man must experience certain passions before he candevelop within him those virtues which give grandeur to life bywidening his sphere and checking the selfishness which is inherent inevery created being. 

Madame de Listomere returned to town without being aware that for theprevious week her friends had felt obliged to refute a rumour (atwhich she would have laughed had she known if it) that her affectionfor her nephew had an almost criminal motive. She took Birotteau toher lawyer, who did not regard the case as an easy one. The vicar'sfriends, inspired by the belief that justice was certain in so good acause, or inclined to procrastinate in a matter which did not concernthem personally, had put off bringing the suit until they returned toTours. Consequently the friends of Mademoiselle Gamard had taken theinitiative, and told the affair wherever they could to the injury ofBirotteau. The lawyer, whose practice was exclusively among the mostdevout church people, amazed Madame de Listomere by advising her notto embark on such a suit; he ended the consultation by saying that "hehimself would not be able to undertake it, for, according to the termsof the deed, Mademoiselle Gamard had the law on her side, and inequity, that is to say outside of strict legal justice, the AbbeBirotteau would undoubtedly seem to the judges as well as to allrespectable laymen to have derogated from the peaceable, conciliatory, and mild character hitherto attributed to him; that MademoiselleGamard, known to be a kindly woman and easy to live with, had putBirotteau under obligations to her by lending him the money he neededto pay the legacy duties on Chapeloud's bequest without taking fromhim a receipt; that Birotteau was not of an age or character to sign adeed without knowing what it contained or understanding the importanceof it; that in leaving Mademoiselle Gamard's house at the end of twoyears, when his friend Chapeloud had lived there twelve and Troubertfifteen, he must have had some purpose known to himself only; and thatthe lawsuit, if undertaken, would strike the public as an act ofingratitude;" and so forth. Letting Birotteau go before them to thestaircase, the lawyer detained Madame de Listomere a moment to entreather, if she valued her own peace of mind, not to involve herself inthe matter. 

But that evening the poor vicar, suffering the torments of a man undersentence of death who awaits in the condemned cell at Bicetre theresult of his appeal for mercy, could not refrain from telling hisassembled friends the result of his visit to the lawyer. 

"I don't know a single pettifogger in Tours, " said Monsieur deBourbonne, "except that Radical lawyer, who would be willing to takethe case, --unless for the purpose of losing it; I don't advise you toundertake it. "

"Then it is infamous!" cried the navel lieutenant. "I myself will takethe abbe to the Radical--"

"Go at night, " said Monsieur de Bourbonne, interrupting him. 

"Why?"

"I have just learned that the Abbe Troubert is appointed vicar-generalin place of the other man, who died yesterday. "

"I don't care a fig for the Abbe Troubert. "

Unfortunately the Baron de Listomere (a man thirty-six years of age)did not see the sign Monsieur de Bourbonne made him to be cautious inwhat he said, motioning as he did so to a friend of Troubert, acouncillor of the Prefecture, who was present. The lieutenanttherefore continued:--

"If the Abbe Troubert is a scoundrel--"

"Oh, " said Monsieur de Bourbonne, cutting him short, "why bringMonsieur Troubert into a matter which doesn't concern him?"

"Not concern him?" cried the baron; "isn't he enjoying the use of theAbbe Birotteau's household property? I remember that when I called onthe Abbe Chapeloud I noticed two valuable pictures. Say that they areworth ten thousand francs; do you suppose that Monsieur Birotteaumeant to give ten thousand francs for living two years with thatGamard woman, --not to speak of the library and furniture, which areworth as much more?"

The Abbe Birotteau opened his eyes at hearing he had once possessed soenormous a fortune. 

The baron, getting warmer than ever, went on to say: "By Jove! there'sthat Monsieur Salmon, formerly an expert at the Museum in Paris; he isdown here on a visit to his mother-in-law. I'll go and see him thisvery evening with the Abbe Birotteau and ask him to look at thosepictures and estimate their value. From there I'll take the abbe tothe lawyer. "

Two days after this conversation the suit was begun. This employmentof the Liberal laywer did harm to the vicar's cause. Those who wereopposed to the government, and all who were known to dislike thepriests, or religion (two things quite distinct which many personsconfound), got hold of the affair and the whole town talked of it. TheMuseum expert estimated the Virgin of Valentin and the Christ ofLebrun, two paintings of great beauty, at eleven thousand francs. Asto the bookshelves and the gothic furniture, the taste for such thingswas increasing so rapidly in Paris that their immediate value was atleast twelve thousand. In short, the appraisal of the whole propertyby the expert reached the sum of over thirty-six thousand francs. Nowit was very evident that Birotteau never intended to give MademoiselleGamard such an enormous sum of money for the small amount he might oweher under the terms of the deed; therefore he had, legally speaking, equitable grounds on which to demand an amendment of the agreement; ifthis were denied, Mademoiselle Gamard was plainly guilty ofintentional fraud. The Radical lawyer accordingly began the affair byserving a writ on Mademoiselle Gamard. Though very harsh in language, this document, strengthened by citations of precedents and supportedby certain clauses in the Code, was a masterpiece of legal argument, and so evidently just in its condemnation of the old maid that thirtyor forty copies were made and maliciously distributed through thetown. 

 IV

A few days after this commencement of hostilities between Birotteauand the old maid, the Baron de Listomere, who expected to be includedas captain of a corvette in a coming promotion lately announced by theminister of the Navy, received a letter from one of his friendswarning him that there was some intention of putting him on theretired list. Greatly astonished by this information he started forParis immediately, and went at once to the minister, who seemed to beamazed himself, and even laughed at the baron's fears. The next day, however, in spite of the minister's assurance, Monsieur de Listomeremade inquiries in the different offices. By an indiscretion (oftenpractised by heads of departments in favor of their friends) one ofthe secretaries showed him a document confirming the fatal news, whichwas only waiting the signature of the director, who was ill, to besubmitted to the minister. 

The Baron de Listomere went immediately to an uncle of his, a deputy, who could see the minister of the Navy at the chamber without loss oftime, and begged him to find out the real intentions of his Excellencyin a matter which threatened the loss of his whole future. He waitedin his uncle's carriage with the utmost anxiety for the end of thesession. His uncle came out before the Chamber rose, and said to himat once as they drove away: "Why the devil have you meddled in apriest's quarrel? The minister began by telling me you had putyourself at the head of the Radicals in Tours; that your politicalopinions were objectionable; you were not following in the lines ofthe government, --with other remarks as much involved as if he wereaddressing the Chamber. On that I said to him, 'Nonsense; let us cometo the point. ' The end was that his Excellency told me frankly youwere in bad odor with the diocese. In short, I made a few inquiriesamong my colleagues, and I find that you have been talking slightinglyof a certan Abbe Troubert, the vicar-general, but a very importantpersonage in the province, where he represents the Jesuits. I havemade myself responsible to the minister for your future conduct. Mygood nephew, if you want to make your way be careful not to exciteecclesiastical enmities. Go at once to Tours and try to make yourpeace with that devil of a vicar-general; remember that such priestsare men with whom we absolutely _must_ live in harmony. Good heavens!when we are all striving and working to re-establish religion it isactually stupid, in a lieutenant who wants to be made a captain, toaffront the priests. If you don't make up matters with that AbbeTroubert you needn't count on me; I shall abandon you. The minister ofecclesiastical affairs told me just now that Troubert was certain tobe made bishop before long; if he takes a dislike to our family hecould hinder me from being included in the next batch of peers. Don'tyou understand?"

These words explained to the naval officer the nature of Troubert'ssecret occupations, about which Birotteau often remarked in his sillyway: "I can't think what he does with himself, --sitting up all night. "

The canon's position in the midst of his female senate, converted soadroitly into provincial detectives, and his personal capacity, hadinduced the Congregation of Jesus to select him out of all theecclesiastics in the town, as the secret proconsul of Touraine. Archbishop, general, prefect, all men, great and small, were under hisoccult dominion. The Baron de Listomere decided at once on his course. 

"I shall take care, " he said to his uncle, "not to get another roundshot below my water-line. "

Three days after this diplomatic conference between the uncle andnephew, the latter, returning hurriedly in a post-chaise, informed hisaunt, the very night of his arrival, of the dangers the family wererunning if they peristed in supporting that "fool of a Birotteau. " Thebaron had detained Monsieur de Bourbonne as the old gentleman wastaking his hat and cane after the usual rubber of whist. Theclear-sightedness of that sly old fox seemed indispensable for anunderstanding of the reefs among which the Listomere family suddenlyfound themselves; and perhaps the action of taking his hat and canewas only a ruse to have it whispered in his ear: "Stay after theothers; we want to talk to you. "

The baron's sudden return, his apparent satisfaction, which was quiteout of keeping with a harrassed look that occasionally crossed hisface, informed Monsieur de Bourbonne vaguely that the lieutenant hadmet with some check in his crusade against Gamard and Troubert. Heshowed no surprise when the baron revealed the secret power of theJesuit vicar-general. 

"I knew that, " he said. 

"Then why, " cried the baroness, "did you not warn us?"

"Madame, " he said, sharply, "forget that I was aware of the invisibleinfluence of that priest, and I will forget that you knew it equallywell. If we do not keep this secret now we shall be thought hisaccomplices, and shall be more feared and hated than we are. Do as Ido; pretend to be duped; but look carefully where you set your feet. Idid warn you sufficiently, but you would not understand me, and I didnot choose to compromise myself. "

"What must we do now?" said the baron. 

The abandonment of Birotteau was not even made a question; it was afirst condition tactily accepted by the three deliberators. 

"To beat a retreat with the honors of war has always been the triumphof the ablest generals, " replied Monsieur de Bourbonne. "Bow toTroubert, and if his hatred is less strong than his vanity you willmake him your ally; but if you bow too low he will walk over yourough-shod; make believe that you intend to leave the service, andyou'll escape him, Monsieur le baron. Send away Birotteau, madame, andyou will set things right with Mademoiselle Gamard. Ask the AbbeTroubert, when you meet him at the archbishop's, if he can play whist. He will say yes. Then invite him to your salon, where he wants to bereceived; he'll be sure to come. You are a woman, and you cancertainly win a priest to your interests. When the baron is promoted, his uncle peer of France, and Troubert a bishop, you can makeBirotteau a canon if you choose. Meantime yield, --but yieldgracefully, all the while with a slight menace. Your family can giveTroubert quite as much support as he can give you. You'll understandeach other perfectly on that score. As for you, sailor, carry yourdeep-sea line about you. "

"Poor Birotteau?" said the baroness. 

"Oh, get rid of him at once, " replied the old man, as he rose to takeleave. "If some clever Radical lays hold of that empty head of his, hemay cause you much trouble. After all, the court would certainly givea verdict in his favour, and Troubert must fear that. He may forgiveyou for beginning the struggle, but if they were defeated he would beimplacable. I have said my say. "

He snapped his snuff-box, put on his overshoes, and departed. 

The next day after breakfast the baroness took the vicar aside andsaid to him, not without visible embarrassment:--

"My dear Monsieur Birotteau, you will think what I am about to ask ofyou very unjust and very inconsistent; but it is necessary, both foryou and for us, that your lawsuit with Mademoiselle Gamard bewithdrawn by resigning your claims, and also that you should leave myhouse. "

As he heard these words the poor abbe turned pale. 

"I am, " she continued, "the innocent cause of your misfortunes, and, moreover, if it had not been for my nephew you would never have begunthis lawsuit, which has now turned to your injury and to ours. Butlisten to me. "

She told him succinctly the immense ramifications of the affair, andexplained the serious nature of its consequences. Her own meditationsduring the night had told her something of the probable antecedents ofTroubert's life; she was able, without misleading Birotteau, to showhim the net so ably woven round him by revenge, and to make him seethe power and great capacity of his enemy, whose hatred to Chapeloud, under whom he had been forced to crouch for a dozen years, now foundvent in seizing Chapeloud's property and in persecuting Chapeloud inthe person of his friend. The harmless Birotteau clasped his hands asif to pray, and wept with distress at the sight of human horrors thathis own pure soul was incapable of suspecting. As frightened as thoughhe had suddenly found himself at the edge of a precipice, he listened, with fixed, moist eyes in which there was no expression, to therevelations of his friend, who ended by saying: "I know the wrong I doin abandoning your cause; but, my dear abbe, family duties must beconsidered before those of friendship. Yield, as I do, to this storm, and I will prove to you my gratitude. I am not talking of your worldlyinterests, for those I take charge of. You shall be made free of allsuch anxieties for the rest of your life. By means of Monsieur deBourbonne, who will know how to save appearances, I shall arrangematters so that you shall lack nothing. My friend, grant me the rightto abandon you. I shall ever be your friend, though forced to conformto the axioms of the world. You must decide. "

The poor, bewildered abbe cried aloud: "Chapeloud was right when hesaid that if Troubert could drag him by the feet out of his grave hewould do it! He sleeps in Chapeloud's bed!"

"There is no use in lamenting, " said Madame de Listomere, "and we havelittle time now left to us. How will you decide?"

Birotteau was too good and kind not to obey in a great crisis theunreflecting impulse of the moment. Besides, his life was already inthe agony of what to him was death. He said, with a despairing look athis protectress which cut her to the heart, "I trust myself to you--Iam but the stubble of the streets. "

He used the Tourainean word "bourrier" which has no other meaning thana "bit of straw. " But there are pretty little straws, yellow, polished, and shining, the delight of children, whereas the bourrieris straw discolored, muddy, sodden in the puddles, whirled by thetempest, crushed under feet of men. 

"But, madame, I cannot let the Abbe Troubert keep Chapeloud'sportrait. It was painted for me, it belongs to me; obtain that for me, and I will give up all the rest. "

"Well, " said Madame de Listomere. "I will go myself to MademoiselleGamard. " The words were said in a tone which plainly showed theimmense effort the Baronne de Listomere was making in lowering herselfto flatter the pride of the old maid. "I will see what can be done, "she said; "I hardly dare hope anything. Go and consult Monsieur deBourbonne; ask him to put your renunciation into proper form, andbring me the paper. I will see the archbishop, and with his help wemay be able to stop the matter here. "

Birotteau left the house dismayed. Troubert assumed in his eyes thedimensions of an Egyptian pyramid. The hands of that man were inParis, his elbows in the Cloister of Saint-Gatien. 

"He!" said the victim to himself, "_He_ to prevent the Baron deListomere from becoming peer of France!--and, perhaps, 'by the help ofthe archbishop we may be able to stop the matter here'!"

In presence of such great interests Birotteau felt he was a mere worm;he judged himself harshly. 

The news of Birotteau's removal from Madame de Listomere's houseseemed all the more amazing because the reason of it was whollyimpenetrable. Madame de Listomere said that her nephew was intendingto marry and leave the navy, and she wanted the vicar's apartment toenlarge her own. Birotteau's relinquishment was still unknown. Theadvice of Monsieur de Bourbonne was followed. Whenever the two factsreached the ears of the vicar-general his self-love was certain to begratified by the assurance they gave that even if the Listomere familydid not capitulate they would at least remain neutral and tacitlyrecognize the occult power of the Congregation, --to reconize it was, in fact, to submit to it. But the lawsuit was still sub judice; hisopponents yielded and threatened at the same time. 

The Listomeres had thus taken precisely the same attitude as thevicar-general himself; they held themselves aloof, and yet were ableto direct others. But just at this crisis an event occurred whichcomplicated the plans laid by Monsieur de Bourbonne and the Listomeresto quiet the Gamard and Troubert party, and made them more difficultto carry out. 

Mademoiselle Gamard took cold one evening in coming out of thecathedral; the next day she was confined to her bed, and soon afterbecame dangerously ill. The whole town rang with pity and falsecommiseration: "Mademoiselle Gamard's sensitive nature has not beenable to bear the scandal of this lawsuit. In spite of the justice ofher cause she was likely to die of grief. Birotteau has killed hisbenefactress. " Such were the speeches poured through the capillarytubes of the great female conclave, and taken up and repeated by thewhole town of Tours. 

Madame de Listomere went the day after Mademoiselle Gamard took coldto pay the promised visit, and she had the mortification of that actwithout obtaining any benefit from it, for the old maid was too ill tosee her. She then asked politely to speak to the vicar-general. 

Gratified, no doubt, to receive in Chapeloud's library, at the cornerof the fireplace above which hung the two contested pictures, thewoman who had hitheto ignored him, Troubert kept the baroness waitinga moment before he consented to admit her. No courtier and nodiplomatist ever put into a discussion of their personal interests orinto the management of some great national negotiation moreshrewdness, dissimulation, and ability than the baroness and thepriest displayed when they met face to face for the struggle. 

Like the seconds or sponsors who in the Middle Age armed the champion, and strengthened his valor by useful counsel until he entered thelists, so the sly old fox had said to the baroness at the last moment:"Don't forget your cue. You are a mediator, and not an interestedparty. Troubert also is a mediator. Weigh your words; study theinflection of the man's voice. If he strokes his chin you have gothim. "

Some sketchers are fond of caricaturing the contrast often observablebetween "what is said" and "what is thought" by the speaker. To catchthe full meaning of the duel of words which now took place between thepriest and the lady, it is necessary to unveil the thoughts that eachhid from the other under spoken sentences of apparent insignificance. Madame de Listomere began by expressing the regret she had felt atBirotteau's lawsuit; and then went on to speak of her desire to settlethe matter to the satisfaction of both parties. 

"The harm is done, madame, " said the priest, in a grave voice. "Thepious and excellent Mademoiselle Gamard is dying. " ("I don't care afig for the old thing, " thought he, "but I mean to put her death onyour shoulders and harass your conscience if you are such a fool as tolisten to it. ")

"On hearing of her illness, " replied the baroness, "I entreatedMonsieur Birotteau to relinquish his claims; I have brought thedocument, intending to give it to that excellent woman. " ("I see whatyou mean, you wily scoundrel, " thought she, "but we are safe now fromyour calumnies. If you take this document you'll cut your own fingersby admitting you are an accomplice. ")

There was silence for a moment. 

"Mademoiselle Gamard's temporal affairs do not concern me, " said thepriest at last, lowering the large lids over his eagle eyes to veilhis emotions. ("Ho! ho!" thought he, "you can't compromise me. ThankGod, those damned lawyers won't dare to plead any cause that couldsmirch me. What do these Listomeres expect to get by crouching in thisway?")

"Monsieur, " replied the baroness, "Monsieur Birotteau's affairs are nomore mine than those of Mademoiselle Gamard are yours; but, unfortunately, religion is injured by such a quarrel, and I come toyou as a mediator--just as I myself am seeking to make peace. " ("Weare not decieving each other, Monsieur Troubert, " thought she. "Don'tyou feel the sarcasm of that answer?")

"Injury to religion, madame!" exclaimed the vicar-general. "Religionis too lofty for the actions of men to injure. " ("My religion is I, "thought he. ) "God makes no mistake in His judgments, madame; Irecognize no tribunal but His. "

"Then, monsieur, " she replied, "let us endeavor to bring the judgmentsof men into harmony with the judgments of God. " ("Yes, indeed, yourreligion is you. ")

The Abbe Troubert suddenly changed his tone. 

"Your nephew has been to Paris, I believe. " ("You found out about methere, " thought he; "you know now that I can crush you, you who daredto slight me, and you have come to capitulate. ")

"Yes, monsieur; thank you for the interest you take in him. He returnsto-night; the minister, who is very considerate of us, sent for him;he does not want Monsieur de Listomere to leave the service. "("Jesuit, you can't crush us, " thought she. "I understand yourcivility. ")

A moment's silence. 

"I did not think my nephew's conduct in this affair quite the thing, "she added; "but naval men must be excused; they know nothing of law. "("Come, we had better make peace, " thought she; "we sha'n't gainanything by battling in this way. ")

A slight smile wandered over the priests face and was lost in itswrinkles. 

"He has done us the service of getting a proper estimate on the valueof those paintings, " he said, looking up at the pictures. "They willbe a noble ornament to the chapel of the Virgin. " ("You shot a sarcasmat me, " thought he, "and there's another in return; we are quits, madame. ")

"If you intend to give them to Saint-Gatien, allow me to offer framesthat will be more suitable and worthy of the place, and of the worksthemselves. " ("I wish I could force you to betray that you have takenBirotteau's things for your own, " thought she. )

"They do not belong to me, " said the priest, on his guard. 

"Here is the deed of relinquishment, " said Madame de Listomere; "itends all discussion, and makes them over to Mademoiselle Gamard. " Shelaid the document on the table. ("See the confidence I place in you, "thought she. ) "It is worthy of you, monsieur, " she added, "worthy ofyour noble character, to reconcile two Christians, --though at presentI am not especially concerned for Monsieur Birotteau--"

"He is living in your house, " said Troubert, interrupting her. 

"No, monsieur, he is no longer there. " ("That peerage and my nephew'spromotion force me to do base things, " thought she. )

The priest remained impassible, but his calm exterior was anindication of violent emotion. Monsieur Bourbonne alone had fathomedthe secret of that apparent tranquillity. The priest had triumphed!

"Why did you take upon yourself to bring that relinquishment, " heasked, with a feeling analogous to that which impels a woman to fishfor compliments. 

"I could not avoid a feeling of compassion. Birotteau, whose feeblenature must be well known to you, entreated me to see MadaemoiselleGamard and to obtain as the price of his renunciation--"

The priest frowned. 

"of rights upheld by distinguished lawyers, the portrait of--"

Troubert looked fixedly at Madame de Listomere. 

"the portrait of Chapeloud, " she said, continuing: "I leave you tojudge of his claim. " ("You will be certain to lose your case if we goto law, and you know it, " thought she. )

The tone of her voice as she said the words "distinguished lawyers"showed the priest that she knew very well both the strength andweakness of the enemy. She made her talent so plain to thisconnoisseur emeritus in the course of a conversation which lasted along time in the tone here given, that Troubert finally went down toMademoiselle Gamard to obtain her answer to Birotteau's request forthe portrait. 

He soon returned. 

"Madame, " he said, "I bring you the words of a dying woman. 'The AbbeChapeloud was so true a friend to me, ' she said, 'that I cannotconsent to part with his picture. ' As for me, " added Troubert, "if itwere mine I would not yield it. My feelings to my late friend were sofaithful that I should feel my right to his portrait was above that ofothers. "

"Well, there's no need to quarrel over a bad picture. " ("I care aslittle about it as you do, " thought she. ) "Keep it, and I will have acopy made of it. I take some credit to myself for having averted thisdeplorable lawsuit; and I have gained, personally, the pleasure ofyour acquaintance. I hear you have a great talent for whist. You willforgive a woman for curiosity, " she said, smiling. "If you will comeand play at my house sometimes you cannot doubt your welcome. "

Troubert stroked his chin. ("Caught! Bourbonne was right!" thoughtshe; "he has his quantum of vanity!")

It was true. The vicar-general was feeling the delightful sensationwhich Mirabeau was unable to subdue when in the days of his power hefound gates opening to his carriage which were barred to him inearlier days. 

"Madame, " he replied, "my avocations prevent my going much intosociety; but for you, what will not a man do?" ("The old maid is goingto die; I'll get a footing at the Listomere's, and serve them if theyserve me, " thought he. "It is better to have them for friends thanenemies. ")

Madame de Listomere went home, hoping that the archbishop wouldcomplete the work of peace so auspiciously begun. But Birotteau wasfated to gain nothing by his relinquishment. Mademoiselle Gamard diedthe next day. No one felt surprised when her will was opened to findthat she had left everything to the Abbe Troubert. Her fortune wasappraised at three hundred thousand francs. The vicar-general sent toMadame de Listomere two notes of invitation for the services and forthe funeral procession of his friend; one for herself and one for hernephew. 

"We must go, " she said. 

"It can't be helped, " said Monsieur de Bourbonne. "It is a test towhich Troubert puts you. Baron, you must go to the cemetery, " headded, turning to the lieutenant, who, unluckily for him, had not leftTours. 

The services took place, and were performed with unusualecclesiastical magnificence. Only one person wept, and that wasBirotteau, who, kneeling in a side chapel and seen by none, believedhimself guilty of the death and prayed sincerely for the soul of thedeceased, bitterly deploring that he was not able to obtain herforgiveness before she died. 

The Abbe Troubert followed the body of his friend to the grave; at theverge of which he delivered a discourse in which, thanks to hiseloquence, the narrow life the old maid had lived was enlarged tomonumental proportions. Those present took particular note of thefollowing words in the peroration:--

"This life of days devoted to God and to His religion, a life adornedwith noble actions silently performed, and with modest and hiddenvirtues, was crushed by a sorrow which we might call undeserved if wecould forget, here at the verge of this grave, that our afflictionsare sent by God. The numerous friends of this saintly woman, knowingthe innocence and nobility of her soul, foresaw that she would issuesafely from her trials in spite of the accusations which blasted herlife. It may be that Providence has called her to the bosom of God towithdraw her from those trials. Happy they who can rest here below inthe peace of their own hearts as Sophie now is resting in her robe ofinnocence among the blest. "

"When he had ended his pompous discourse, " said Monsieur de Bourbonne, after relating the incidents of the internment to Madame de Listomerewhen whist was over, the doors shut, and they were alone with thebaron, "this Louis XI. In a cassock--imagine him if you can!--gave alast flourish to the sprinkler and aspersed the coffin with holywater. " Monsieur de Bourbonne picked up the tongs and imitated thepriest's gesture so satirically that the baron and his aunt could nothelp laughing. "Not until then, " continued the old gentleman, "did hecontradict himself. Up to that time his behavior had been perfect; butit was no doubt impossible for him to put the old maid, whom hedespised so heartily and hated almost as much as he hated Chapeloud, out of sight forever without allowing his joy to appear in that lastgesture. "

The next day Mademoiselle Salomon came to breakfast with Madame deListomere, chiefly to say, with deep emotion: "Our poor Abbe Birotteauhas just received a frightful blow, which shows the most determinedhatred. He is appointed curate of Saint-Symphorien. "

Saint-Symphorien is a suburb of Tours lying beyond the bridge. Thatbridge, one of the finest monuments of French architecture, isnineteen hundred feet long, and the two open squares which surroundeach end are precisely alike. 

"Don't you see the misery of it?" she said, after a pause, amazed atthe coldness with which Madame de Listomere received the news. "It isjust as if the abbe were a hundred miles from Tours, from his friends, from everything! It is a frightful exile, and all the more cruelbecause he is kept within sight of the town where he can hardly evercome. Since his troubles he walks very feebly, yet he will have towalk three miles to see his old friends. He has taken to his bed, justnow, with fever. The parsonage at Saint-Symphorien is very cold anddamp, and the parish is too poor to repair it. The poor old man willbe buried in a living tomb. Oh, it is an infamous plot!"

To end this history it will suffice to relate a few events in a simpleway, and to give one last picture of its chief personages. 

Five months later the vicar-general was made Bishop of Troyes; andMadame de Listomere was dead, leaving an annuity of fifteen hundredfrancs to the Abbe Birotteau. The day on which the dispositions in herwill were made known Monseigneur Hyacinthe, Bishop of Troyes, was onthe point of leaving Tours to reside in his diocese, but he delayedhis departure on receiving the news. Furious at being foiled by awoman to whom he had lately given his countenance while she had beensecretly holding the hand of a man whom he regarded as his enemy, Troubert again threatened the baron's future career, and put injeopardy the peerage of his uncle. He made in the salon of thearchbishop, and before an assembled party, one of those priestlyspeeches which are big with vengeance and soft with honied mildness. The Baron de Listomere went the next day to see this implacable enemy, who must have imposed sundry hard conditions on him, for the baron'ssubsequent conduct showed the most entire submission to the will ofthe terrible Jesuit. 

The new bishop made over Mademoiselle Gamard's house by deed of giftto the Chapter of the cathedral; he gave Chapeloud's books andbookcases to the seminary; he presented the two disputed pictures tothe Chapel of the Virgin; but he kept Chapeloud's portrait. No oneknew how to explain this almost total renunciation of MademoiselleGamard's bequest. Monsieur de Bourbonne supposed that the bishop hadsecretly kept moneys that were invested, so as to support his rankwith dignity in Paris, where of course he would take his seat on theBishops' bench in the Upper Chamber. It was not until the night beforeMonseigneur Troubert's departure from Tours that the sly old foxunearthed the hidden reason of this strange action, the deathblowgiven by the most persistent vengeance to the feeblest of victims. Madame de Listomere's legacy to Birotteau was contested by the Baronde Listomere under a pretence of undue influence!

A few days after the case was brought the baron was promoted to therank of captain. As a measure of ecclesiastical discipline, the curateof Saint-Symphorien was suspended. His superiors judged him guilty. The murderer of Sophie Gamard was also a swindler. If MonseigneurTroubert had kept Mademoiselle Gamard's property he would have foundit difficult to make the ecclestiastical authorities censureBirotteau. 

At the moment when Monseigneur Hyacinthe, Bishop of Troyes, drovealong the quay Saint-Symphorien in a post-chaise on his way to Parispoor Birotteau had been placed in an armchair in the sun on a terraceabove the road. The unhappy priest, smitten by the archbishop, waspale and haggard. Grief, stamped on every feature, distorted the facethat was once so mildly gay. Illness had dimmed his eyes, formerlybrightened by the pleasures of good living and devoid of seriousideas, with a veil which simulated thought. It was but the skeleton ofthe old Birotteau who had rolled only one year earlier so vacuous butso content along the Cloister. The bishop cast one look of pity andcontempt upon his victim; then he consented to forget him, and wenthis way. 

There is no doubt that Troubert would have been in other times aHildebrand or an Alexander the Sixth. In these days the Church is nolonger a political power, and does not absorb the whole strength ofher solitaries. Celibacy, however, presents the inherent vice ofconcentating the faculties of man upon a single passion, egotism, which renders celibates either useless or mischievous. We live at aperiod when the defect of governments is to make Man for Societyrather than Society for Man. There is a perpetual struggle going onbetween the Individual and the Social system which insists on usinghim, while he is endeavoring to use it to his own profit; whereas, informer days, man, really more free, was also more loyal to the publicweal. The round in which men struggle in these days has beeninsensibly widened; the soul which can grasp it as a whole will everbe a magnificent exception; for, as a general thing, in morals as inphysics, impulsion loses in intensity what it gains in extension. Society can not be based on exceptions. Man in the first instance waspurely and simply, father; his heart beat warmly, concentrated in theone ray of Family. Later, he lived for a clan, or a small community;hence the great historical devotions of Greece and Rome. After that hewas a man of caste or of a religion, to maintain the greatness ofwhich he often proved himself sublime; but by that time the field ofhis interests became enlarged by many intellectual regions. In ourday, his life is attached to that of a vast country; sooner or laterhis family will be, it is predicted, the entire universe. 

Will this moral cosmopolitanism, the hope of Christian Rome, prove tobe only a sublime error? It is so natural to believe in therealization of a noble vision, in the Brotherhood of Man. But, alas!the human machine does not have such divine proportions. Souls thatare vast enough to grasp a range of feelings bestowed on great menonly will never belong to either fathers of families or simplecitizens. Some physiologists have thought that as the brain enlargesthe heart narrows; but they are mistaken. The apparent egotism of menwho bear a science, a nation, a code of laws in their bosom is thenoblest of passions; it is, as one may say, the maternity of themasses; to give birth to new peoples, to produce new ideas they mustunite within their mighty brains the breasts of woman and the force ofGod. The history of such men as Innocent the Third and Peter theGreat, and all great leaders of their age and nation will show, ifneed be, in the highest spheres the same vast thought of whichTroubert was made the representative in the quiet depths of theCloister of Saint-Gatien. 

ADDENDUM

The following personages appear in other stories of the Human Comedy. 

Birotteau, Abbe Francois The Lily of the Valley Cesar Birotteau

Bourbonne, De Madame Firmiani

Listomere, Baronne de Cesar Birotteau The Muse of the Department

Troubert, Abbe Hyacinthe The Member for Arcis

Villenoix, Pauline Salomon de Louis Lambert A Seaside Tragedy