• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

“Let us speak French, father,” he said to the Jesuit. “M. d’Artagnan will savor our words more fully.”

“Yes, I’m tired out from the road,” said d’Artagnan, “and all this Latin is beyond me.”

“Very well,” said the Jesuit, slightly vexed, while the curate, in a transport of relief, turned upon d’Artagnan a gaze filled with gratitude. “Now, then, see what advantage can be drawn from this gloss: Moses, the servant of God…He is no more than a servant, understand that well! Moses blessed with his hands. He had both arms held up for him while the Hebrews fought their enemies; thus he blessed with both hands. Besides, what says the Gospel: imponite manus, and not manum; lay on your hands, not your hand.”104

“Lay on your hands,” the curate repeated with a gesture.

“To St. Peter, on the contrary, of whom the popes are successors,” the Jesuit continued, “it was: Porrige digitos; hold up your fingers. Do you see now?”

“To be sure,” Aramis replied in delight, “but it’s a subtle thing.”

“Your fingers!” the Jesuit repeated. “St. Peter blessed with his fingers. Thus the pope also blesses with his fingers. And with how many fingers does he bless? With three fingers, one for the Father, one for the Son, and one for the Holy Spirit.”

They all crossed themselves. D’Artagnan thought he had better follow their example.

“The pope is the successor of St. Peter and represents the three divine powers. The rest, the ordines inferiores of the ecclesiastical hierarchy, bless in the name of the holy archangels and angels. The humblest clerics, such as our deacons and sacristans, bless with sprinklers, which simulate an indefinite number of blessing fingers. There you have a simple statement of the subject, argumentum omni denudatum ornamento.* With it,” the Jesuit went on, “I could produce two volumes the size of this one.”

And in his enthusiasm he thumped the folio of St. Chrysostom, which made the table sag under its weight.

D’Artagnan shuddered.

“To be sure,” said Aramis, “I do justice to the beauties of this thesis, but at the same time I find it overwhelming. I had chosen this text—tell me, my dear d’Artagnan, if it’s not to your taste: Non inutile est desiderium in oblatione, or better still: A slight regret is not unbecoming in an offering to the Lord.”

“Stop right there,” cried the Jesuit, “for this thesis verges on heresy! There is almost the same proposition in the Augustinus of the heres Jansenius,105 whose book will be burned sooner or later by the executioner’s hands. Beware, my young friend! You are inclining towards false doctrines, my young friend, you will be lost!”

“You will be lost!” said the curate, shaking his head ruefully.

“You are touching upon that famous point about free will, which is a fatal stumbling block. You are coming abreast of the insinuations of the Pelagians and the semi-Pelagians.”106

“But, reverend father…” Aramis picked up, a bit stunned by the hail of arguments falling on his head.

“How will you prove,” the Jesuit went on without giving him time to speak, “that one must regret the world when one offers oneself to God? Listen to this dilemma: God is God, and the world is the devil. To regret the world is to regret the devil. There is my conclusion.”

“It is mine as well,” said the curate.

“But for pity’s sake!…” said Aramis.

“Desideras diabolum, poor boy!” cried the Jesuit.

“He regrets the devil! Ah, my young friend,” the curate continued, sighing, “do not regret the devil, I beseech you.”

D’Artagnan was lapsing into idiocy. It seemed to him that he was in a madhouse, and that he was going to become as mad as those he was looking at. Only he was forced to keep silent, having no understanding of the language being spoken around him.

“But do listen to me,” Aramis picked up, with a politeness behind which some slight impatience was beginning to show. “I am not saying I regret; no, I will never utter that phrase, which would not be orthodox…”

The Jesuit raised his arms to heaven, and the curate did the same.

“No, but agree at least that it