Scenes from a Courtesan's Life [12]
and have no religious teaching."
"All may yet be remedied then," replied the priest, "provided that your faith, your repentance, are sincere and without ulterior motive."
"Lucien and God fill my heart," said she with ingenuous pathos.
"You might have said God and Lucien," answered the priest, smiling. "You remind me of the purpose of my visit. Omit nothing that concerns that young man."
"You have come from him?" she asked, with a tender look that would have touched any other priest! "Oh, he thought I should do it!"
"No," replied the priest; "it is not your death, but your life that we are interested in. Come, explain your position toward each other."
"In one word," said she.
The poor child quaked at the priest's stern tone, but as a woman quakes who has long ceased to be surprised at brutality.
"Lucien is Lucien," said she, "the handsomest young man, the kindest soul alive; if you know him, my love must seem to you quite natural. I met him by chance, three months ago, at the Porte-Saint-Martin theatre, where I went one day when I had leave, for we had a day a week at Madame Meynardie's, where I then was. Next day, you understand, I went out without leave. Love had come into my heart, and had so completely changed me, that on my return from the theatre I did not know myself: I had a horror of myself. Lucien would never have known. Instead of telling him what I was, I gave him my address at these rooms, where a friend of mine was then living, who was so kind as to give them up to me. I swear on my sacred word----"
"You must not swear."
"Is it swearing to give your sacred word?--Well, from that day I have worked in this room like a lost creature at shirt-making at twenty- eight sous apiece, so as to live by honest labor. For a month I have had nothing to eat but potatoes, that I might keep myself a good girl and worthy of Lucien, who loves me and respects me as a pattern of virtue. I have made my declaration before the police to recover my rights, and submitted to two years' surveillance. They are ready enough to enter your name on the lists of disgrace, but make every difficulty about scratching it out again. All I asked of Heaven was to enable me to keep my resolution.
"I shall be nineteen in the month of April; at my age there is still a chance. It seems to me that I was never born till three months ago.--I prayed to God every morning that Lucien might never know what my former life had been. I bought that Virgin you see there, and I prayed to her in my own way, for I do not know any prayers; I cannot read nor write, and I have never been into a church; I have never seen anything of God excepting in processions, out of curiosity."
"And what do you say to the Virgin?"
"I talk to her as I talk to Lucien, with all my soul, till I make him cry."
"Oh, so he cries?"
"With joy," said she eagerly, "poor dear boy! We understand each other so well that we have but one soul! He is so nice, so fond, so sweet in heart and mind and manners! He says he is a poet; I say he is god.-- Forgive me! You priests, you see, don't know what love is. But, in fact, only girls like me know enough of men to appreciate such as Lucien. A Lucien, you see, is as rare as a woman without sin. When you come across him you can love no one else; so there! But such a being must have his fellow; so I want to be worthy to be loved by my Lucien. That is where my trouble began. Last evening, at the opera, I was recognized by some young men who have no more feeling than a tiger has pity--for that matter, I could come round the tiger! The veil of innocence I had tried to wear was worn off; their laughter pierced my brain and my heart. Do not think you have saved me; I shall die of grief."
"Your veil of innocence?" said the priest. "Then you have treated Lucien with the sternest severity?"
"Oh, Father, how can you, who know him, ask me such a question!" she replied with a smile. "Who can resist a god?"
"Do not be blasphemous," said the priest mildly. "No one can be like God. Exaggeration is out of place with true
"All may yet be remedied then," replied the priest, "provided that your faith, your repentance, are sincere and without ulterior motive."
"Lucien and God fill my heart," said she with ingenuous pathos.
"You might have said God and Lucien," answered the priest, smiling. "You remind me of the purpose of my visit. Omit nothing that concerns that young man."
"You have come from him?" she asked, with a tender look that would have touched any other priest! "Oh, he thought I should do it!"
"No," replied the priest; "it is not your death, but your life that we are interested in. Come, explain your position toward each other."
"In one word," said she.
The poor child quaked at the priest's stern tone, but as a woman quakes who has long ceased to be surprised at brutality.
"Lucien is Lucien," said she, "the handsomest young man, the kindest soul alive; if you know him, my love must seem to you quite natural. I met him by chance, three months ago, at the Porte-Saint-Martin theatre, where I went one day when I had leave, for we had a day a week at Madame Meynardie's, where I then was. Next day, you understand, I went out without leave. Love had come into my heart, and had so completely changed me, that on my return from the theatre I did not know myself: I had a horror of myself. Lucien would never have known. Instead of telling him what I was, I gave him my address at these rooms, where a friend of mine was then living, who was so kind as to give them up to me. I swear on my sacred word----"
"You must not swear."
"Is it swearing to give your sacred word?--Well, from that day I have worked in this room like a lost creature at shirt-making at twenty- eight sous apiece, so as to live by honest labor. For a month I have had nothing to eat but potatoes, that I might keep myself a good girl and worthy of Lucien, who loves me and respects me as a pattern of virtue. I have made my declaration before the police to recover my rights, and submitted to two years' surveillance. They are ready enough to enter your name on the lists of disgrace, but make every difficulty about scratching it out again. All I asked of Heaven was to enable me to keep my resolution.
"I shall be nineteen in the month of April; at my age there is still a chance. It seems to me that I was never born till three months ago.--I prayed to God every morning that Lucien might never know what my former life had been. I bought that Virgin you see there, and I prayed to her in my own way, for I do not know any prayers; I cannot read nor write, and I have never been into a church; I have never seen anything of God excepting in processions, out of curiosity."
"And what do you say to the Virgin?"
"I talk to her as I talk to Lucien, with all my soul, till I make him cry."
"Oh, so he cries?"
"With joy," said she eagerly, "poor dear boy! We understand each other so well that we have but one soul! He is so nice, so fond, so sweet in heart and mind and manners! He says he is a poet; I say he is god.-- Forgive me! You priests, you see, don't know what love is. But, in fact, only girls like me know enough of men to appreciate such as Lucien. A Lucien, you see, is as rare as a woman without sin. When you come across him you can love no one else; so there! But such a being must have his fellow; so I want to be worthy to be loved by my Lucien. That is where my trouble began. Last evening, at the opera, I was recognized by some young men who have no more feeling than a tiger has pity--for that matter, I could come round the tiger! The veil of innocence I had tried to wear was worn off; their laughter pierced my brain and my heart. Do not think you have saved me; I shall die of grief."
"Your veil of innocence?" said the priest. "Then you have treated Lucien with the sternest severity?"
"Oh, Father, how can you, who know him, ask me such a question!" she replied with a smile. "Who can resist a god?"
"Do not be blasphemous," said the priest mildly. "No one can be like God. Exaggeration is out of place with true