The Three Musketeers (Translated by Richard Pevear) - Alexandre Dumas [140]
“I should say so, pardieu!” the latter cried.
The curate and the Jesuit jumped in their chairs.
“Here is my starting point. It is a syllogism: the world is not without its attractions; I am leaving the world; thus I am making a sacrifice. Now, the Scriptures say positively: Make a sacrifice unto the Lord.”
“That is true,” said the antagonists.
“Moreover,” Aramis went on, pinching his ear to make it red, while he shook his hands to make them white, “moreover I’ve made a certain rondeau on the subject, which I transmitted to M. Voiture107 last year, and on which the great man has paid me a thousand compliments.”
“A rondeau?” the Jesuit said disdainfully.
“A rondeau?” the curate repeated mechanically.
“Recite it, recite it,” cried d’Artagnan, “it will be a bit of a change for us.”
“Not so, for it is religious,” replied Aramis, “it is versified theology.”
“Devil take it!” said d’Artagnan.
“Here it is,” said Aramis, with a modest little air that was not without a certain tinge of hypocrisy:
You who lament the loss of past delight,
And go on dragging out your hapless years,
Offer up to God alone your tears,
Then your sorrows all will find respite,
You who lament.
D’Artagnan and the curate seemed charmed. The Jesuit persisted in his opinion.
“Beware of profane taste in theological style. What indeed does St. Augustine say? Severus sit clericorum sermo.”*
“Yes, let the sermon be clear!” said the curate.
“Your thesis,” the Jesuit hastened to interrupt, seeing that his acolyte had gone astray, “your thesis will please the ladies, that is all; it will have the success of one of Master Patru’s pleadings.”108
“God grant it!” Aramis cried in transport.
“You see,” cried the Jesuit, “the world still speaks in a loud voice within you, altissima voce.** You follow the world’s ways, my young friend, and I tremble lest grace not suffice you.”
“Cheer up, reverend father, I can answer for myself.”
“Worldly presumption!”
“I know myself, father; my resolution is irrevocable.”
“So you insist on pursuing this thesis?”
“I feel myself called upon to deal with it and not some other. I shall therefore continue, and tomorrow I hope you will be satisfied with the corrections I shall have made following your advice.”
“Work slowly,” said the curate, “we leave you in excellent intentions.”
“Yes, the ground is well sown,” said the Jesuit, “and we need not fear that part of the seed has fallen upon stone, another part by the roadside, and that the fowls of the air have eaten the rest, aves cœli comederunt illam.”109
“The plague choke you with your Latin!” said d’Artagnan, who felt at the end of his strength.
“Good-bye, my son,” said the curate, “till tomorrow.”
“Till tomorrow, my bold young man,” said the Jesuit. “You promise to be one of the lights of the Church. Heaven grant that this light be not a devouring fire!”
D’Artagnan, who for an hour had been biting his nails with impatience, had gotten down to the quick.
The two men in black rose, bowed to Aramis and d’Artagnan, and moved towards the door. Bazin, who had remained standing and had listened to the whole controversy with pious jubilation, rushed to them, took the curate’s breviary and the Jesuit’s missal, and walked respectfully ahead of them to clear the way.
Aramis accompanied them to the foot of the stairs and immediately came back up to d’Artagnan, who was still somewhat dazed.
Left alone, the two friends first sat in embarrassed silence. However, one of them had to be the first to break it, and as d’Artagnan seemed resolved to leave that honor to his friend, Aramis said:
“You see, I’ve come back to my fundamental ideas.”
“Yes, you’ve been touched by efficient grace,110 as one of those gentlemen said just now.”
“Oh, these plans to retire were formed long ago, and you’ve already heard me speak of them, haven’t you, my friend?”
“Of course, but I confess I thought you were joking.”
“About such things? Oh, d’Artagnan!”
“Why, people joke about death,