The Village Rector by Honoré de Balzac (read more books TXT) 📕

each other, to hide their tears and keep the secret of their thoughts in their own breasts. Those few words were the dying agony of a passion, the farewell of a soul to the glorious things of earth, in accordance with true Catholic renunciation. The rector, comprehending the majesty of all great human things, even criminal things, judged of this mysterious passion by the enormity of the sin. He raised his eyes to heaven as if to invoke the mercy of God. Thence come the consolations, the infinite tendernesses of the Catholic religion,--so humane, so gentle with the hand that descends to man, showing him the law of higher spheres; so awful, so divine, with that other hand held out to lead him into heaven.

Denise had now significantly shown the rector the spot by which to strike that rock and make the waters of repentance flow. But suddenly, as though the memories evoked were dragging him backwards, Jean-Francois gave the harrowing cry of the hyena when the hunters overtake it.

"No, no!" he cried, falling on his knees, "I will live! Mother, give me your clothes; I can escape! Mercy, mercy! Go see the king; tell him--"

He stopped, gave a horrible roar, and clung convulsively to the rector's cassock.

"Go," said Monsieur Bonnet, in a low voice, to the agitated women.

Jean heard the words; he raised his head, gazed at his mother and sister, then he stopped and kissed their feet.

"Let us say farewell now; do not come back; leave me alone with Monsieur Bonnet. You need not be uneasy about me any longer," he said, pressing his mother and his sister to him with a strength in which he seemed to put all his life.

"How is it we do not die of this?" said Denise to her mother as they passed through the wicket.

It was nearly eight o'clock when this parting took place. At the gate of the prison the two women met the Abbe de Rastignac, who asked them news of the prisoner.

"He will no doubt be reconciled with God," said Denise. "If repentance has not yet begun, he is very near it."

The bishop was soon after informed that the clergy would triumph on this occasion, and that the criminal would go to the scaffold with the most edifying religious sentiments. The prelate, with whom was the attorney-general, expressed a wish to see the rector. Monsieur Bonnet did not reach the palace before midnight. The Abbe Gabriel, who made many trips between the palace and the jail, judged it necessary to fetch the rector in the episcopal coach; for the poor priest was in a state of exhaustion which almost deprived him of the use of his legs. The effect of his day, the prospect of the morrow, the sight of the secret struggle he had witnessed, and the full repentance which had at last overtaken his stubborn lamb when the great reckoning of eternity was brought home to him,--all these things had combined to break down Monsieur Bonnet, whose nervous, electrical nature entered into the sufferings of others as though they were his own. Souls that resemble that noble soul espouse so ardently the impressions, miseries, passions, sufferings of those in whom they are interested, that they actually feel them, and in a horrible manner, too; for they are able to measure their extent,--a knowledge which escapes others who are blinded by selfishness of heart or the paroxysm of grief. It is here that a priest like Monsieur Bonnet becomes an artist who feels, rather than an artist who judges.

When the rector entered the bishop's salon and found there the two grand-vicars, the Abbe de Rastignac, Monsieur de Grandville, and the _procureur-general_, he felt convinced that something more was expected of him.

"Monsieur," said the bishop, "have you obtained any facts which you can, without violating your duty, confide to the officers of the law for their guidance?"

"Monseigneur, in order to give absolution to that poor, wandering child, I waited not only till his repentance was as sincere and as complete as the Church could wish, but I have also exacted from him the restitution of the money."

"This restitution," said the _procureur-general_, "brings me here to-night; it will, of course, be made in such a way as to throw light on the mysterious parts of this affair. The criminal certainly had accomplices."

"The interests of human justice," said the rector, "are not those for which I act. I am ignorant of how the restitution will be made, but I know it will take place. In sending for me to minister to my parishioner, Monseigneur placed me under the conditions which give to rectors in their parishes the same powers which Monseigneur exercises in his diocese,--barring, of course, all questions of discipline and ecclesiastical obedience."

"That is true," said the bishop. "But the question here is how to obtain from the condemned man voluntary information which may enlighten justice."

"My mission is to win souls to God," said Monsieur Bonnet.

Monsieur de Grancour shrugged his shoulders slightly, but his colleague, the Abbe Dutheil nodded his head in sign of approval.

"Tascheron is no doubt endeavoring to shield some one, whom the restitution will no doubt bring to light," said the _procureur-general_.

"Monsieur," replied the rector, "I know absolutely nothing which would either confute or justify your suspicion. Besides, the secrets of confession are inviolable."

"Will the restitution really take place?" asked the man of law.

"Yes, monsieur," replied the man of God.

"That is enough for me," said the _procureur-general_, who relied on the police to obtain the required information; as if passions and personal interests were not tenfold more astute than the police.

The next day, this being market-day, Jean-Francois Tascheron was led to execution in a manner to satisfy both the pious and the political spirits of the town. Exemplary in behavior, pious and humble, he kissed the crucifix, which Monsieur Bonnet held to his lips with a trembling hand. The unhappy man was watched and examined; his glance was particularly spied upon; would his eyes rove in search of some one in the crowd or in a house? His discretion did, as a matter of fact, hold firm to the last. He died as a Christian should, repentant and absolved.

The poor rector was carried away unconscious from the foot of the scaffold, though he did not even see the fatal knife.

During the following night, on the high-road fifteen miles from Limoges, Denise, though nearly exhausted by fatigue and grief, begged her father to let her go again to Limoges and take with her Louis-Marie Tascheron, one of her brothers.

"What more have you to do in that town?" asked her father, frowning.

"Father," she said, "not only must we pay the lawyer who defended him, but we must also restore the money which he has hidden."

"You are right," said the honest man, pulling out a leathern pouch he carried with him.

"No, no," said Denise, "he is no longer your son. It is not for those who cursed him, but for those who loved him, to reward the lawyer."

"We will wait for you at Havre," said the father.

Denise and her brother returned to Limoges before daylight. When the police heard, later, of this return they were never able to discover where the brother and sister had hidden themselves.

Denise and Louis went to the upper town cautiously, about four o'clock that afternoon, gliding along in the shadow of the houses. The poor girl dared not raise her eyes, fearing to meet the glances of those who had seen her brother's execution. After calling on Monsieur Bonnet, who in spite of his weakness, consented to serve as father and guardian to Denise in the matter, they all went to the lawyer's house in the rue de la Comedie.

"Good-morning, my poor children," said the lawyer, bowing to Monsieur Bonnet; "how can I be of service to you? Perhaps you would like me to claim your brother's body and send it to you?"

"No, monsieur," replied Denise, weeping at an idea which had never yet occurred to her. "I come to pay his debt to you--so far, at least, as money can pay an eternal debt."

"Pray sit down," said the lawyer; noticing that Denise and the rector were still standing.

Denise turned away to take from her corset two notes of five hundred francs each, which were fastened by a pin to her chemise; then she sat down and offered them to her brother's defender. The rector gave the lawyer a flashing look which was instantly moistened by a tear.

"Keep the money for yourself, my poor girl," said the lawyer. "The rich do not pay so generously for a lost cause."

"Monsieur," said Denise, "I cannot obey you."

"Then the money is not yours?" said the lawyer.

"You are mistaken," she replied, looking at Monsieur Bonnet as if to know whether God would be angry at the lie.

The rector kept his eyes lowered.

"Well, then," said the lawyer, taking one note of five hundred francs and offering the other to the rector, "I will share it with the poor. Now, Denise, change this one, which is really mine," he went on, giving her the note, "for your velvet ribbon and your gold cross. I will hang the cross above my mantel to remind me of the best and purest young girl's heart I have ever known in my whole experience as a lawyer."

"I will give it to you without selling it," cried Denise, taking off her _jeannette_ and offering it to him.

"Monsieur," said the rector, "I accept the five hundred francs to pay for the exhumation of the poor lad's body and its transportation to Montegnac. God has no doubt pardoned him, and Jean will rise with my flock on that last day when the righteous and the repentant will be called together to the right hand of the Father."

"So be it," replied the lawyer.

He took Denise by the hand and drew her toward him to kiss her forehead; but the action had another motive.

"My child," he whispered, "no one in Montegnac has five-hundred-franc notes; they are rare even at Limoges, where they are only taken at a discount. This money has been given to you; you will not tell me by whom, and I don't ask you; but listen to me: if you have anything more to do in this town relating to your poor brother, take care! You and Monsieur Bonnet and your brother Louis will be followed by police-spies. Your family is known to have left Montegnac, and as soon as you are seen here you will be watched and surrounded before you are aware of it."

"Alas!" she said. "I have nothing more to do here."

"She is cautious," thought the lawyer, as he parted from her. "However, she is warned; and I hope she will get safely off."

* * * * *


During this last week in September, when the weather was as warm as in summer, the bishop gave a dinner to the authorities of the place. Among the guests were the _procureur-du-roi_ and the attorney-general. Some lively discussions prolonged the party till a late hour. The company played whist and backgammon, a favorite game with the clergy. Toward eleven o'clock the _procureur-du-roi_ walked out upon the upper terrace. From the spot where