No More Learning

Something mighty as the grave seized him beneath these chilling


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HONORÉ DE BALZAC
1379
rafters. Was it not the eternal silence, the deep peace, the near
presence of the infinite? Through the stillness came the fixed
thought of the cloister, - that thought which glides through the
air in the half-lights, and is in all things, the thougnt unchange-
able; nowhere seen, which yet grows vast to the imagination; the
all-comprising phrase, the peace of God. It enters there, with
living power, into the least religious heart. Convents of men
are not easily conceivable; man seems feeble and unmanly in
them. He is born to act, to fulfil a life of toil; and he escapes
it in his cell. But in a monastery of women what strength to
endure, and yet what touching weakness! A man may be pushed
by a thousand sentiments into the depths of an abbey; he flings
himself into them as from a precipice. But the woman is drawn
only by one feeling; she does not unsex herself, - she espouses
holiness. You may say to the man, Why did you not struggle?
but to the cloistered woman life is a struggle still.
The general found in this mute parlor of the seagirt convent
memories of himself, Love seldom reaches upward to solemnity;
but love in the bosom of God,- is there nothing solemn there?
Yes, more than a man has the right to hope for in this nine-
teenth century, with our manners and our customs what they
are.
The general's soul was one on which such impressions act.
His nature was noble enough to forget self-interest, honors, Spain,
the world, or Paris, and rise to the heights of feeling roused by
this unspeakable termination of his long pursuit. What could be
more tragic? How many emotions held these lovers, reunited at
last on this granite ledge far out at sea, yet separated by an
idea, an impassable barrier. Look at this man, saying to him-
self, “Can I triumph over God in that heart ? »
A slight noise made him quiver. The brown curtain was
drawn back; he saw in the half-light a woman standing, but her
face was hidden from him by the projection of a veil, which lay
in many folds upon her head. According to the rule of the
Order she was clothed in the brown garb whose color has be-
come proverbial. The general could not see the naked feet,
which would have told him the frightful emaciation of her body;
yet through the thick folds of the coarse robe that swathed her,
his heart divined that tears and prayers and passion and solitude
had wasted her away.
The chill hand of a woman, doubtless the Mother-superior,
held back the curtain, and the general, examining this unwelcome


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1380
HONORÉ DE BALZAC
witness of the interview, encountered the deep grave eyes of an
old nun, very aged, whose clear, even youthful, glance belied
the wrinkles that furrowed her pale face.
“Madame la duchesse,” he said, in a voice shaken by emotion,
to the Sister, who bowed her head, does your companion under-
stand French >>
« There is no duchess here,” replied the nun. << You are in
presence of Sister Theresa. The woman whom you call my
companion is my Mother in God, my superior here below. ”
These words, humbly uttered by a voice that once harmonized
with the luxury and elegance in which this woman had lived
queen of the world of Paris, that fell from lips whose language
had been of old so gay, so mocking, struck the general as if
with an electric shock.
“My holy Mother speaks only Latin and Spanish,” she added.
«I understand neither. Dear Antoinette, make her my ex-
cuses. »
As she heard her name softly uttered by a man once so hard
to her, the nun was shaken by emotion, betrayed only by the
light quivering of her veil, on which the light now fully fell.
“My brother,” she said, passing her sleeve beneath her veil,
perhaps to wipe her eyes, my name is Sister Theresa. ”
Then she turned to the Mother, and said to her in Spanish a
few words which the general plainly heard. He knew enough of
the language to understand it, perhaps to speak it. My dear
Mother, this gentleman presents to you his respects, and begs
you to excuse him for not laying them himself at your feet; but
he knows neither of the languages which you speak. ”
The old woman slowly bowed her head; her countenance took
an expression of angelic sweetness, tempered, nevertheless, by
the consciousness of her power and dignity.
“You know this gentleman ? ” she asked, with a piercing
glance at the Sister.
“Yes, my Mother. ”
“Retire to your cell, my daughter," said the Superior in a
tone of authority.
The general hastily withdrew to the shelter of the curtain,
lest his face should betray the anguish these words cost him; but
he fancied that the penetrating eyes of the Superior followed
him even into the shadow. This woman, arbiter of the frail and
fleeting joy he had won at such cost, made him afraid; he trem-
bled, he whom a triple range of cannon could not shake.


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HONORÉ DE BALZAC
1381
The duchess walked to the door, but there she turned.
“My
Mother,” she said, in a voice horribly calm, “this Frenchman is
one of my brothers. ”
* Remain, therefore, my daughter,” said the old woman, after
a pause.
The jesuitism of this answer revealed such love and such
regret, that a man of less firmness than the general would have
betrayed his joy in the midst of a peril so novel to him. But
what value could there be in the words, looks, gestures of a love
that must be hidden from the eyes of a lynx, the claws of a
tiger? The Sister came back.
“You see, my brother,” she said, “what I have dared to do
that I might for one moment speak to you of your salvation, and
tell you of the prayers which day by day my soul offers to
heaven on your behalf. I have committed a mortal sin,- I have
lied. How many days of penitence to wash out that lie! But I
shall suffer for you. You know not, my brother, the joy of lov-
ing in heaven, of daring to avow affections that religion has
purified, that have risen to the highest regions, that at last we
know and feel with the soul alone. If the doctrines if the
spirit of the saint to whom we owe this refuge had not lifted me
above the anguish of earth to a world, not indeed where she is,
but far above my lower life, I could not have seen you now.
But I can see you, I can hear you, and remain calm. ”
“Antoinette,” said the general, interrupting these words, "suf-
fer me to see you, you, whom I love passionately, to madness,
as you once would have had me love you. "
"Do not call me Antoinette, I implore you: memories of the
past do me harm. See in me only the Sister Theresa, a creature
trusting all to the divine pity. And,” she added, after a pause,
«subdue yourself, my brother. Our Mother would separate us
instantly if your face betrayed earthly passions, or your eyes shed
tears. »
The general bowed his head, as if to collect himself; when
he again lifted his eyes to the grating he saw between two bars
the pale, emaciated, but still ardent face of the nun. Her com-
plexion, where once had bloomed the loveliness of youth,— where
once there shone the happy contrast of a pure, clear whiteness
with the colors of a Bengal rose,-
now had the tints of a porce-
lain cup through which a feeble light showed faintly. The beau-
tiful hair of which this woman was once so proud was shaven; a


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1382
HONORÉ DE BALZAC
1
white band bound her brows and was wrapped around her face.
Her eyes, circled with dark shadows due to the austerities of her
life, glanced at moments with a feverish light, of which their
habitual calm was but the mask. In a word, of this woman
nothing remained but her soul.
"Ah! you will leave this tomb you, who are my life! You
belonged to me; you were not free to give yourself — not even
to God. Did you not promise to sacrifice all to the least of my
commands? Will you now think me worthy to claim that promise,
if I tell you what I have done for your sake ? I have sought
you through the whole world. For five years you have been the
thought of every instant, the occupation of every hour, of my life.
My friends — friends all-powerful as you know — have helped me
to search the convents of France, Spain, Italy, Sicily, America.
My love has deepened with every fruitless search. Many a long
journey I have taken on a false hope. I have spent my life and
the strong beatings of my heart about the walls of cloisters. I
will not speak to you of a fidelity unlimited. What is it? — noth-
ing compared to the infinitude of my love! If in other days your
remorse was real, you cannot hesitate to follow me now. ”
“You forget that I am not free. ”
“The duke is dead,” he said hastily.
Sister Theresa colored. "May Heaven receive him! ” she said,
with quick emotion: "he was generous to me.
But I did not
speak of those ties: one of my faults was my willingness to
break them without scruple for you. ”
You speak of your vows, cried the general, frowning. "I
little thought that anything would weigh in your heart against
our love.
But do not fear, Antoinette; I will obtain a brief from
the Holy Father which will absolve your vows. I will go to
Rome; I will petition every earthly power; if God himself came
down from heaven I »
"Do not blaspheme!
“Do not fear how God would see it! Ah! I wish I were as
sure that you will leave these walls with me; that to-night-to-
night, you would embark at the feet of these rocks.
to find happiness! I know not where - at the ends of the earth!
With me you will come back to life, to health — in the shelter of
1
Let us go
my love! »
“Do not say these things,” replied the Sister; “you do not
know what you now are to me. I love you better than I once


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HONORÉ DE BALZAC
1383
loved you.
But you —
I pray to God for you daily. I see you no longer
with the eyes of my body. If you but knew, Armand, the joy
of being able, without shame, to spend myself upon a pure love
which God protects! You do not know the joy I have in calling
down the blessings of heaven upon your head. I never pray for
myself: God will do with me according to his will.
at the price of my eternity I would win the assurance that you
are happy in this world, that you will be happy in another
throughout the ages. My life eternal is all that misfortunes have
left me to give you. I have grown old in grief; I am no longer
young or beautiful. Ah! you would despise a nun who returned
to be a woman; no sentiment, not even maternal love, could
absolve her. What could you say to me that would shake the
unnumbered reflections my heart has made in five long years, –
and which have changed it, hollowed it, withered it ? Ah! I
should have given something less sad to God! ”
«What can I say to you, dear Antoinette ? I will say that I
love you; that affection, love, true love, the joy of living in a
heart all ours,— wholly ours, without one reservation,- is so rare,
so difficult to find, that I once doubted you; I put you to cruel
tests. But to-day I love and trust you with all the powers of my
soul. If you will follow me I will listen throughout life to no
voice but thine. I will look on no face »
“Silence, Armand! you shorten the sole moments which are
given to us to see each other here below. ”
“Antoinette! will you follow me ? »
“I never leave you. I live in your heart — but with another
power than that of earthly pleasure, or vanity, or selfish joy. I
live here for you, pale and faded, in the bosom of God. If God
is just, you will be happy. ”
"Phrases! you give me phrases! But if I will to have you
pale and faded, — if I cannot be happy unless you are with me?
What! will you forever place duties before my love? Shall I
never be above all things else in your heart ? In the past you
put the world, or self — I know not what - above me; to-day it
is God, it is my salvation. In this Sister Theresa I recognize the
duchess; ignorant of the joys of love, unfeeling beneath a pretense
of tenderness! You do not love me! you never loved me! — »
“Oh, my brother! — »
“You will not leave this tomb. You love my soul, you say:
well! you shall destroy it forever and ever. I will kill myself - »


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1384
HONORÉ DE BALZAC
"My Mother! ” cried the nun, “I have lied to you; this man
is my lover. ”
The curtain fell. The general, stunned, heard the doors close
with violence.
“She loves me still! ” he cried, comprehending all that was
revealed in the cry of the nun. “I will find means to carry her
away!
He left the island immediately, and returned to France.
Translation copyrighted by Roberts Brothers.
(AN EPISODE UNDER THE TERROR)
1
1
1
THE 22d of January, 1793, towards eight o'clock in the
evening, an old gentlewoman came down the sharp decliv-
ity of the Faubourg Saint-Martin, which ends near the
church of Saint-Laurent in Paris. Snow had fallen throughout
the day, so that footfalls could be scarcely heard. The streets
were deserted. The natural fear inspired by such stillness was
deepened by the terror to which all France was then a prey.
The old lady had met no one. Her failing sight hindered
her from perceiving in the distance a few pedestrians, sparsely
scattered like shadows, along the broad road of the faubourg.
She was walking bravely through the solitude as if her age were
a talisman to guard her from danger; but after passing the Rue
des Morts she fancied that she heard the firm, heavy tread of a
man coming behind her. The thought seized her mind that she
had been listening to it unconsciously for some time. Terrified
at the idea of being followed, she tried to walk faster to reach a
lighted shop-window, and settle the doubt which thus assailed
her. When well beyond the horizontal rays of light thrown
across the pavement, she turned abruptly and saw a human form
looming through the fog. The indistinct glimpse was enough.
She staggered for an instant under the weight of terror, for she
no longer doubted that this unknown man had tracked her, step
by step, from her home. The hope of escaping such a spy lent
strength to her feeble limbs. Incapable of reasoning, she quick-
ened her steps to a run, as if it were possible to escape a man
necessarily more agile than she. After running for a few min-
utes, she reached the shop of a pastry-cook, entered it, and fell,
rather than sat, down on a chair which stood before the counter.


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HONORÉ DE BALZAC
1385
As she lifted the creaking latch of the door, a young woman,
who was at work on a piece of embroidery, looked up and recog-
nized through the glass panes the antiquated mantle of purple
silk which wrapped the old lady, and hastened to pull open a
drawer, as if to take from thence something that she had to give
her. The action and the expression of the young woman not
only implied a wish to get rid of the stranger, as of some one
most unwelcome, but she let fall an exclamation of impatience
at finding the drawer empty. Then, without looking at the
lady, she came rapidly from behind the counter, and went to-
wards the back-shop to call her husband, who appeared at once.
« Where have you put
? ” she asked him, mysteri-
ously, calling his attention to the old lady by a glance, and not
concluding her sentence.
Although the pastry-cook could see nothing but the enormous
black-silk hood circled with purple ribbons which the stranger
wore, he disappeared, with a glance at his wife which seemed to
say,
« Do
you suppose
I should leave that on your counter ? ”
Surprised at the silence and immobility of her customer, the
wife came forward, and was seized with a sudden movement
of compassion as well as of curiosity when she looked at her.
Though the complexion of the old gentlewoman was naturally
livid, like that of a person vowed to secret austerities, it was
easy to see that some recent alarm had spread an unusual pale-
ness over her features. Her head-covering was so arranged as
to hide the hair, whitened no doubt by age, for the cleanly collar
of her dress proved that she wore no powder. The concealment
of this natural adornment gave to her countenance a sort of
conventual severity; but its features were grave and noble. In
former days the habits and manners of people of quality were
so different from those of all other classes that it was easy to dis-
tinguish persons of noble birth. The young shop-woman felt
certain, therefore, that the stranger was a ci-devant, and one who
had probably belonged to the court.
“Madame ? ” she said, with involuntary respect, forgetting that
the title was proscribed.
The old lady made no answer. Her eyes were fixed on the
glass of the shop-window, as if some alarming object were
painted upon it.
“What is the matter, citoyenne ? ” asked the master of the
establishment, re-entering, and drawing the attention of his


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1386
HONORÉ DE BALZAC
customer to a little cardboard box covered with blue paper,
which he held out to her.
"It is nothing, nothing, my friends," she answered in a gentle
voice, as she raised her eyes to give the man a thankful look.
Seeing a phrygian cap upon his head, a cry escaped her:-“Ah!
it is you who have betrayed me! ”
The young woman and her husband replied by a deprecat-
ing gesture of horror which caused the unknown lady to blush,
either for her harsh suspicion or from the relief of feeling it
unjust.
"Excuse me,” she said, with childlike sweetness. Then tak-
ing a gold louis from her pocket, she offered it to the pastry-
cook. Here is the sum we agreed upon,” she added.
There is a poverty which poor people quickly divine. The
shopkeeper and his wife looked at each other with a glance at
the old lady that conveyed a mutual thought. The louis was
doubtless her last. The hands of the poor woman trembled as
she offered it, and her eyes rested upon it sadly, yet not with
avarice. She seemed to feel the full extent of her sacrifice.
Hunger and want were traced upon her features in lines as legi-
ble as those of timidity and ascetic habits.
Her clothing showed
vestiges of luxury. It was of silk, well-worn; the mantle was
clean, though faded; the laces carefully darned; in short, here
were the rags of opulence. The two shopkeepers, divided be-
tween pity and self-interest, began to soothe their conscience with
words:
"Citoyenne, you seem very feeble –»
“Would Madame like to take something? » asked the wife,
cutting short her husband's speech.
“We have some very good broth,” he added.
"It is so cold, perhaps Madame is chilled by her walk; but
you can rest here and warm yourself. ”
«The devil is not so black as he is painted,” cried the hus-
band.
Won by the kind tone of these words, the old lady admitted
that she had been followed by a man and was afraid of going
home alone.
“Is that all ? ) said the man with the phrygian cap. «Wait
for me, citoyenne. ”
He gave the louis to his wife. Then moved by a species of
gratitude which slips into the shopkeeping soul when its owner


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HONORÉ DE BALZAC
1387
Don't go.
receives an exorbitant price for an article of little value, he went
to put on his uniform as a National guard; took his hat, slung
on his sabre, and reappeared under arms.
But the wife mean-
time had reflected. Reflection, as often happens in many hearts,
had closed the open hand of her benevolence. Uneasy, and
alarmed lest her husband should be mixed up in some dangerous
affair, she pulled him by the flap of his coat, intending to stop
him; but the worthy man, obeying the impulse of charity,
promptly offered to escort the poor lady to her home.
“It seems that the man who has given her this fright is
prowling outside,” said his wife nervously.
"I am afraid he is,” said the old lady, with much simplicity.
“Suppose he should be a spy. Perhaps it is a conspiracy.
Take back the box. These words, whispered in the
pastry-cook's ear by the wife of his bosom, chilled the sudden
compassion that had warmed him.
Well, well, I will just say two words to the man and get rid
of him,” he said, opening the door and hurrying out.
The old gentlewoman, passive as a child and half paralyzed
with fear, sat down again. The shopkeeper almost instantly re-
appeared; but his face, red by nature and still further scorched
by the fires of his bakery, had suddenly turned pale, and he was
in the grasp of such terror that his legs shook and his eyes were
like those of a drunken man.
"Miserable aristocrat! ” he cried, furiously, do you want to
cut off our heads ? Go out from here; let me see your heels,
and don't dare to come back; don't expect me to supply you
with the means of conspiracy! ”
So saying, the pastry-cook endeavored to get back the little
box which the old lady had already slipped into one of her
pockets. Hardly had the bold hands of the shopkeeper touched
her clothing, than, preferring to encounter danger with no pro-
tection but that of God rather than lose the thing she had come
to buy, she recovered the agility of youth, and sprang to the
door, through which she disappeared abruptly, leaving the hus-
band and wife amazed and trembling.
As soon as the poor lady found herself alone in the street she
began to walk rapidly; but her strength soon gave way, for she
once more heard the snow creaking under the footsteps of the
spy as he trod heavily upon it. She was obliged to stop short:
the man stopped also. She dared not speak to him, nor even


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1388
HONORÉ DE BALZAC
look at him; either because of her terror, or from some lack of
natural intelligence. Presently she continued her walk slowly;
the man measured his step by hers, and kept at the same dis-
tance behind her; he seemed to move like her shadow. Nine
o'clock struck as the silent couple repassed the church of Saint-
Laurent. It is the nature of all souls, even the weakest, to fall
back into quietude after moments of violent agitation; for mani-
fold as
our feelings may be, our bodily powers are limited.
Thus the old lady, receiving no injury from her apparent perse-
cutor, began to think that he might be a secret friend watching
to protect her. She gathered up in her mind the circumstances
attending other apparitions of the mysterious stranger as if to
find plausible grounds for this consoling opinion, and took pleas-
ure in crediting him with good rather than sinister intentions.
Forgetting the terror he had inspired in the pastry-cook, she
walked on with a firmer step towards the upper part of the Fau-
bourg Saint-Martin.
At the end of half an hour she reached a house standing close
to the junction of the chief street of the faubourg with the street
leading out to the Barrière de Pantin. The place is to this day
one of the loneliest in Paris. The north wind blowing from Belle-
ville and the Buttes Chaumont whistled among the houses, or
rather cottages, scattered through the sparsely inhabited little
valley, where the inclosures are fenced with walls built of mud
and refuse bones. This dismal region seems the natural home of
poverty and despair. The man who was intent on following the
poor creature who had had the courage to thread these dark and
silent streets seemed struck with the spectacle they offered. He
stopped as if reflecting, and stood in a hesitating attitude, dimly
visible by a street lantern whose flickering light scarcely pierced
the fog Fear gave eyes to the old gentlewoman, who now
fancied that she saw something sinister in the features of this
unknown man. A11 her terrors revived, and profiting by the
curious hesitation that had seized him, she glided like a shadow
to the doorway of the solitary dwelling, touched a spring, and
disappeared with phantasmagoric rapidity.
The man, standing motionless, gazed at the house, which was,
as it were, a type of the wretched buildings of the neighborhood.
The tottering hovel, built of porous stone in rough blocks, was
coated with yellow plaster much cracked, and looked ready to
fall before a gust of wind. The roof, of brown tiles covered


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HONORÉ DE BALZAC
1389
with moss, had sunk in several places, and gave the impression
that the weight of snow might break it down at any moment.
Each story had three windows whose frames, rotted by dampness
and shrunken by the heat of the sun, told that the outer cold
penetrated to the chambers. The lonely house seemed like an
ancient tower that time had forgotten to destroy. A faint light
gleamed from the garret windows, which were irregularly cut in
the roof; but the rest of the house was in complete obscurity.
The old woman went up the rough and clumsy stairs with diffi-
culty, holding fast to a rope which took the place of baluster.
She knocked furtively at the door of a lodging under the roof,
and sat hastily down on a chair which an old man offered her.
“Hide! hide yourself! ” she cried. “Though we go out so
seldom, our errands are known, our steps are watched
“What has happened ? ” asked another old woman sitting near
the fire.
“The man who has hung about the house since yesterday fol-
lowed me to-night. ”
At these words the occupants of the hovel looked at each
other with terror in their faces. The old man
was the least
moved of the three, possibly because he was the one in greatest
danger. Under the pressure of misfortune or the yoke of perse-
cution a man of courage begins, as it were, by preparing for the
sacrifice of himself: he looks upon his days as so many victories
won from fate.
The eyes of the two women, fixed upon
the
old man, showed plainly that he alone was the object of their
extreme anxiety.
“Why distrust God, my sisters? ” he said, in a hollow but
impressive voice. “We chanted praises to his name amid the
cries of victims and assassins at the convent. If it pleased him
to save me from that butchery, it was doubtless for some destiny
which I shall accept without a murmur. God protects his own,
and disposes of them according to his will. It is of you, not of
me, that we should think. ”
“No,” said one of the women: «what is our life in compari-
son with that of a priest ? ”
“Ever since the day when I found myself outside of the
Abbaye des Chelles,” said the nun beside the fire, “I have given
myself up for dead. ”
“Here,” said the one who had just come in, holding out the
little box to the priest, “here the sacramental wafers -
are


## p. 1390 (#184) ###########################################

1390
HONORÉ DE BALZAC
one
Listen! ” she cried, interrupting herself. “I hear some one on
the stairs. ”
At these words all three listened intently. The noise ceased.
“Do not be frightened,” said the priest, “even if some
asks to enter. A person on whose fidelity we can safely rely has
taken measures to cross the frontier, and he will soon call here
for letters which I have written to the Duc de Langeais and the
Marquis de Beauséant, advising them as to the measures they
must take to get you out of this dreadful country, and save you
from the misery or the death you would otherwise undergo here. ”
"Shall you not follow us ? " said the two nuns softly, but in a
tone of despair.
"My place is near the victims,” said the priest, simply.
The nuns were silent, looking at him with devout admiration.
“Sister Martha,” he said, addressing the nun who had fetched
the wafers, “this messenger must answer Fiat voluntas' to the
word Hosanna. ) »
« There is some one on the stairway,” exclaimed the other
nun, hastily opening a hiding-place burrowed at the edge of the
roof.
This time it was easy to hear the steps of a man sounding
through the deep silence on the rough stairs, which were caked
with patches of hardened mud. The priest slid with difficulty
into a narrow hiding-place, and the nuns hastily threw articles of
apparel over him.
"You can shut me in, Sister Agatha,” he said, in a smothered
voice.
He was scarcely hidden when three knocks upon the door
made the sisters tremble and consult each other with their eyes,
for they dared not speak. Forty years' separation from the world
had made them like plants of a hot-house which wilt when
brought into the outer air. Accustomed to the life of a convent,
they could not conceive of any other; and when one morning
their bars and gratings were flung down, they had shuddered at
finding themselves free. It is easy to imagine the species of
imbecility which the events of the Revolution, enacted before
their eyes, had produced in these innocent souls. Quite incapable
of harmonizing their conventual ideas with the exigencies of
ordinary life, not even comprehending their own situation, they
were like children who had always been cared for, and who now,
torn from their maternal providence, had taken to prayers as


## p. 1391 (#185) ###########################################

HONORÉ DE BALZAC
1391
man.
other children take to tears. So it happened that in presence of
immediate danger they were dumb and passive, and could think
of no other defence than Christian resignation.
The man who sought to enter interpreted their silence as he
pleased; he suddenly opened the door and showed himself. The
two nuns trembled when they recognized the individual who for
some days had watched the house and seemed to make inquiries
about its inmates. They stood quite still and looked at him with
uneasy curiosity, like the children of savages examining a being
of another sphere. The stranger was very tall and stout, but
nothing in his manner or appearance denoted that he was a bad
He copied the immobility of the sisters and stood motion-
less, letting his eye rove slowly round the room.
Two bundles of straw placed on two planks served as beds
for the nuns. A table was in the middle of the room; upon it a
copper candlestick, a few plates, three knives, and a round loaf
of bread. The fire on the hearth was very low, and a few sticks
of wood piled in a corner of the room testified to the poverty of
the occupants. The walls, once covered with a coat of paint
now much defaced, showed the wretched condition of the roof
through which the rain had trickled, making a network of brown
stains. A sacred relic, saved no doubt from the pillage of the
Abbaye des Chelles, adorned the mantel-shelf of the chimney.
Three chairs, two coffers, and a broken chest of drawers com-
pleted the furniture of the room. A doorway cut near the fire-
place showed there was probably an inner chamber.
The inventory of this poor cell was soon made by the indi-
vidual who had presented himself under such alarming auspices.
An expression of pity crossed his features, and as he threw a
kind glance upon the frightened women he seemed as much em-
barrassed as they. The strange silence in which they all three
stood and faced each other lasted but a moment; for the stranger
seemed to guess the moral weakness and inexperience of the poor
helpless creatures, and he said, in a voice which he strove to
render gentle, “I have not come as an enemy, citoyennes. ”
Then he paused, but resumed:- “My sisters, if harm should
ever happen to you, be sure that I shall not have contributed to
it. I have come to ask a favor of you. "
They still kept silence.
“If I ask too much — if I annoy you — I will go away; but
believe me, I am heartily devoted to you, and if there is any


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HONORÉ DE BALZAC
service that I could render you, you may employme without
fear. I, and I alone, perhaps, am above law — since there is no
longer a king. ”
The ring of truth in these words induced Sister Agatha, a
nun belonging to the ducal house of Langeais, and whose man-
ners indicated that she had once lived amid the festivities of life
and breathed the air of courts, to point to a chair as if she asked
their guest to be seated. The unknown gave vent to an expres-
sion of joy, mingled with melancholy, as he understood this
gesture. He waited respectfully till the sisters were seated, and
then obeyed it.
“You have given shelter,” he said, "to a venerable priest not
sworn in by the Republic, who escaped miraculously from the
massacre at the Convent of the Carmelites. ”
« Hosanna,” said Sister Agatha, suddenly interrupting the
stranger, and looking at him with anxious curiosity.
“That is not his name, I think,” he answered.
But, Monsieur, we have no priest here,” cried Sister Martha,
hastily, “and — »
“ Then you should take better precautions," said the unknown
gently, stretching his arm to the table and picking up a breviary.
“I do not think you understand Latin, and »
He stopped short, for the extreme distress painted on the
faces of the poor nuns made him fear he had gone too far; they
trembled violently, and their eyes filled with tears.
« Do not fear,” he said; “I know the name of your guest,
and yours also. During the last three days I have learned your
poverty, and your great devotion to the venerable Abbé of - »
«Hush ! » exclaimed Sister Agatha, ingenuously putting a fin-
ger on her lip.
“You see, my sisters, that if I had the horrible design of
betraying you, I might have accomplished it again and again. "
As he uttered these words the priest emerged from his prison
and appeared in the middle of the room.
“I cannot believe, Monsieur,” he said courteously, that you
are one of our persecutors.
What is it you desire
of me?
The saintly confidence of the old man, and the nobility of
mind imprinted on his countenance, might have disarmed even
an assassin. He who thus mysteriously agitated this home of
penury and resignation stood contemplating the group before
I trust you.


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HONORÉ DE BALZAC
1393
him; then he addressed the priest in a trustful tone, with these
words:
“My father, I came to ask you to celebrate a mass for the
repose of the soul — of- of a sacred being whose body can never
lie in holy ground. ”
The priest involuntarily shuddered. The nuns, not as yet
understanding who it was of whom the unknown man had spo-
ken, stood with their necks stretched and their faces turned
towards the speakers, in an attitude of eager curiosity. The
ecclesiastic looked intently at the stranger; unequivocal anxiety
was marked on every feature, and his eyes offered an earnest
and even ardent prayer.
“Yes,” said the priest at length. « Return here at midnight,
and I shall be ready to celebrate the only funeral service that
we are able to offer in expiation of the crime of which you
speak. ”
The unknown shivered; a joy both sweet and solemn seemed
to rise in his soul above some secret grief. Respectfully salut-
ing the priest and the two saintly women, he disappeared with a
mute gratitude which these generous souls knew well how to
interpret.
Two hours later the stranger returned, knocked cautiously at
the door of the garret, and was admitted by Mademoiselle de
Langeais, who led him to the inner chamber of the humble
refuge, where all was in readiness for the ceremony. Between
two flues of the chimney the nuns had placed the old chest of
drawers, whose broken edges were concealed by a magnificent
altar-cloth of green moiré. A large ebony and ivory crucifix
hanging on the discolored wall stood out in strong relief from the
surrounding bareness, and necessarily caught the eye. Four slen-
der little tapers, which the sisters had contrived to fasten to the
altar with sealing-wax, threw a pale glimmer dimly reflected by
the yellow wall. These feeble rays scarcely lit up the rest of the
chamber, but as their light fell upon the sacred objects it seemed
a halo falling from heaven upon the bare and undecorated altar.
The floor was damp. The attic roof, which sloped sharply on
both sides of the room, was full of chinks through which the
wind penetrated. Nothing could be less stately, yet nothing
was ever more solemn than this lugubrious ceremony. Silence
so deep that some far-distant cry could have pierced it, lent a
sombre majesty to the nocturnal scene. The grandeur of the
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HONORÉ DE BALZAC
1394
on
a
occasion contrasted vividly with the poverty of its circumstances,
and roused a feeling of religious terror. On either side of the
altar the old nuns, kneeling on the tiled floor and taking no
thought of its mortal dampness, were praying in concert with
the priest, who, robed in his pontifical vestments, placed upon
the altar a golden chalice incrusted with precious stones, -a
sacred vessel rescued, no doubt, from the pillage of the Abbaye
des Chelles. Close to this vase, which was a gift of royal munifi-
cence, the bread and wine of the consecrated sacrifice were con-
tained in two glass tumblers scarcely worthy of the meanest
tavern. In default of a missal the priest had placed his breviary
corner of the altar. A common earthenware platter was
provided for the washing of those innocent hands, pure and
unspotted with blood. All was majestic and yet paltry; poor but
noble; profane and holy in one.
The unknown man knelt piously between the sisters. Sud-
denly, as he caught sight of the crape upon the chalice and the
crucifix, -- for in default of other means of proclaiming the object
of this funeral rite the priest had put God himself into mourn-
ing, — the mysterious visitant was seized by some all-powerful
recollection, and drops of sweat gathered on his brow. The four
silent actors in this scene looked at each other with mysterious
sympathy; their souls, acting one upon another, communicated
to each the feelings of all, blending them into the one emotion of
religious pity. It seemed as though their thought had evoked
from the dead the sacred martyr whose body was devoured by
quicklime, but whose shade rose up before them in royal maj-
esty. They were celebrating a funeral Mass without the remains
of the deceased. Beneath these rafters and disjointed laths four
Christian souls were interceding with God for a king of France,
and making his burial without a coffin. It was the purest of all
devotions; an act of wonderful loyalty accomplished without one
thought of self. Doubtless in the eyes of God it was the cup of
cold water that weighed in the balance against many virtues.
The whole of monarchy was there in the prayers of the priest
and the two poor women; but also it may have been that the
Revolution was present likewise, in the person of the strange
being whose face betrayed the remorse that led him to make this
solemn offering of a vast repentance.
Instead of pronouncing the Latin words, "Introibo ad altare
Dei,” etc. , the priest, with divine intuition, glanced at his three
assistants, who represented all Christian France, and said, in


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HONORÉ DE BALZAC
1395
words which effaced the penury and meanness of the hovel, “We
enter now into the sanctuary of God. ”
At these words, uttered with penetrating unction, a solemn
awe seized the participants. Beneath the dome of St. Peter's in
Rome, God had never seemed more majestic to man than he did
now in this refuge of poverty and to the eyes of these Chris-
tians, so true is it that between man and God all mediation is
unneeded, for his glory descends from himself alone. The fer-
vent piety of the nameless man was unfeigned, and the feeling
that held these four servants of God and the king was unani-
mous. The sacred words echoed like celestial music amid the
silence. There was a moment when the unknown broke down
and wept: it was at the Pater Noster, to which the priest added
a Latin clause which the stranger doubtless comprehended and
applied, — "Et remitte scelus regicidis sicut Ludovicus eis remisit
semetipse” (And forgive the regicides even as Louis XVI. him-
self forgave them). The two nuns saw the tears coursing down
the manly cheeks of their visitant, and dropping fast on the tiled
floor.
The Office of the Dead was recited. The « Domine salvum
fac regem," sung in low tones, touched the hearts of these faith-
ful royalists as they thought of the infant king, now captive in
the hands of his enemies, for whom this prayer was offered. The
unknown shuddered; perhaps he feared an impending crime in
which he would be called to take an unwilling part.
When the service was over, the priest made a sign to the
nuns, who withdrew to the outer room. As soon as he was alone
with the unknown, the old man went up to him with gentle sad-
ness of manner, and said in the tone of a father,
“My son, if you have steeped your hands in the blood of the
martyr king, confess yourself to me. There is no crime which,
in the eyes of God, is not washed out by a repentance as deep
and sincere as yours appears to be. ”
At the first words of the ecclesiastic an involuntary motion of
terror escaped the stranger; but he quickly recovered himself,
and looked at the astonished priest with calm assurance.
"My father,” he said, in a voice that nevertheless trembled,
no one is more innocent than I of the blood shed »
“I believe it! ” said the priest.
He paused a moment, during which he examined afresh his
penitent; then, persisting in the belief that he was one of those


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1396
HONORÉ DE BALZAC
timid members of the Assembly who sacrificed the inviolate and
sacred head to save their own, he resumed in a grave voice:
"Reflect, my son, that something more than taking no part
in that great crime is needed to absolve from guilt. Those who
kept their sword in the scabbard when they might have defended
their king have a heavy account to render to the King of kings.
Oh, yes,” added the venerable man, moving his head from right
to left with an expressive motion; "yes, heavy, indeed! for, stand-
ing idle, they made themselves the accomplices of a horrible
transgression. ”
"Do you believe,” asked the stranger, in a surprised tone,
" that even an indirect participation will be punished? The sol-
dier ordered to form the line — do you think he was guilty? ”
The priest hesitated. Glad of the dilemma that placed this
puritan of royalty between the dogma of passive obedience, which
according to the partisans of monarchy should dominate the mil-
itary system, and the other dogma, equally imperative, which
consecrates the person of the king, the stranger hastened to
accept the hesitation of the priest as a solution of the doubts
that seemed to trouble him.