The Vicar of Tours

But this tempest, petty as it seems, did develop in the souls of these persons as many passions as would have been called forth by the highest social interests. It is a mistake to think that none but souls concerned in mighty projects, which stir their lives and set them foaming, find time too fleeting. The hours of the Abbe Troubert fled by as eagerly, laden with thoughts as anxious, harassed by despairs and hopes as deep as the cruellest hours of the gambler, the lover, or the statesman. God alone is in the secret of the energy we expend upon our occult triumphs over man, over things, over ourselves. Though we know not always whither we are going we know well what the journey costs us. If it be permissible for the historian to turn aside for a moment from the drama he is narrating and ask his readers to cast a glance upon the lives of these old maids and abbes, and seek the cause of the evil which vitiates them at their source, we may find it demonstrated that man must experience certain passions before he can develop within him those virtues which give grandeur to life by widening his sphere and checking the selfishness which is inherent in every created being.

Madame de Listomere returned to town without being aware that for the previous week her friends had felt obliged to refute a rumour (at which she would have laughed had she known if it) that her affection for her nephew had an almost criminal motive. She took Birotteau to her lawyer, who did not regard the case as an easy one. The vicar’s friends, inspired by the belief that justice was certain in so good a cause, or inclined to procrastinate in a matter which did not concern them personally, had put off bringing the suit until they returned to Tours. Consequently the friends of Mademoiselle Gamard had taken the initiative, and told the affair wherever they could to the injury of Birotteau. The lawyer, whose practice was exclusively among the most devout church people, amazed Madame de Listomere by advising her not to embark on such a suit; he ended the consultation by saying that “he himself would not be able to undertake it, for, according to the terms of the deed, Mademoiselle Gamard had the law on her side, and in equity, that is to say outside of strict legal justice, the Abbe Birotteau would undoubtedly seem to the judges as well as to all respectable laymen to have derogated from the peaceable, conciliatory, and mild character hitherto attributed to him; that Mademoiselle Gamard, known to be a kindly woman and easy to live with, had put Birotteau under obligations to her by lending him the money he needed to pay the legacy duties on Chapeloud’s bequest without taking from him a receipt; that Birotteau was not of an age or character to sign a deed without knowing what it contained or understanding the importance of it; that in leaving Mademoiselle Gamard’s house at the end of two years, when his friend Chapeloud had lived there twelve and Troubert fifteen, he must have had some purpose known to himself only; and that the lawsuit, if undertaken, would strike the public as an act of ingratitude;” and so forth. Letting Birotteau go before them to the staircase, the lawyer detained Madame de Listomere a moment to entreat her, if she valued her own peace of mind, not to involve herself in the matter.

But that evening the poor vicar, suffering the torments of a man under sentence of death who awaits in the condemned cell at Bicetre the result of his appeal for mercy, could not refrain from telling his assembled friends the result of his visit to the lawyer.

“I don’t know a single pettifogger in Tours,” said Monsieur de Bourbonne, “except that Radical lawyer, who would be willing to take the case, – unless for the purpose of losing it; I don’t advise you to undertake it.”

“Then it is infamous!” cried the navel lieutenant. “I myself will take the abbe to the Radical – ”

“Go at night,” said Monsieur de Bourbonne, interrupting him.

“Why?”

“I have just learned that the Abbe Troubert is appointed vicar-general in place of the other man, who died yesterday.”

“I don’t care a fig for the Abbe Troubert.”

Unfortunately the Baron de Listomere (a man thirty-six years of age) did not see the sign Monsieur de Bourbonne made him to be cautious in what he said, motioning as he did so to a friend of Troubert, a councillor of the Prefecture, who was present. The lieutenant therefore continued: —

“If the Abbe Troubert is a scoundrel – ”

“Oh,” said Monsieur de Bourbonne, cutting him short, “why bring Monsieur Troubert into a matter which doesn’t concern him?”

“Not concern him?” cried the baron; “isn’t he enjoying the use of the Abbe Birotteau’s household property? I remember that when I called on the Abbe Chapeloud I noticed two valuable pictures. Say that they are worth ten thousand francs; do you suppose that Monsieur Birotteau meant to give ten thousand francs for living two years with that Gamard woman, – not to speak of the library and furniture, which are worth as much more?”

The Abbe Birotteau opened his eyes at hearing he had once possessed so enormous a fortune.

The baron, getting warmer than ever, went on to say: “By Jove! there’s that Monsieur Salmon, formerly an expert at the Museum in Paris; he is down here on a visit to his mother-in-law. I’ll go and see him this very evening with the Abbe Birotteau and ask him to look at those pictures and estimate their value. From there I’ll take the abbe to the lawyer.”

Two days after this conversation the suit was begun. This employment of the Liberal laywer did harm to the vicar’s cause. Those who were opposed to the government, and all who were known to dislike the priests, or religion (two things quite distinct which many persons confound), got hold of the affair and the whole town talked of it. The Museum expert estimated the Virgin of Valentin and the Christ of Lebrun, two paintings of great beauty, at eleven thousand francs. As to the bookshelves and the gothic furniture, the taste for such things was increasing so rapidly in Paris that their immediate value was at least twelve thousand. In short, the appraisal of the whole property by the expert reached the sum of over thirty-six thousand francs. Now it was very evident that Birotteau never intended to give Mademoiselle Gamard such an enormous sum of money for the small amount he might owe her under the terms of the deed; therefore he had, legally speaking, equitable grounds on which to demand an amendment of the agreement; if this were denied, Mademoiselle Gamard was plainly guilty of intentional fraud. The Radical lawyer accordingly began the affair by serving a writ on Mademoiselle Gamard. Though very harsh in language, this document, strengthened by citations of precedents and supported by certain clauses in the Code, was a masterpiece of legal argument, and so evidently just in its condemnation of the old maid that thirty or forty copies were made and maliciously distributed through the town.

IV

A few days after this commencement of hostilities between Birotteau and the old maid, the Baron de Listomere, who expected to be included as captain of a corvette in a coming promotion lately announced by the minister of the Navy, received a letter from one of his friends warning him that there was some intention of putting him on the retired list. Greatly astonished by this information he started for Paris immediately, and went at once to the minister, who seemed to be amazed himself, and even laughed at the baron’s fears. The next day, however, in spite of the minister’s assurance, Monsieur de Listomere made inquiries in the different offices. By an indiscretion (often practised by heads of departments in favor of their friends) one of the secretaries showed him a document confirming the fatal news, which was only waiting the signature of the director, who was ill, to be submitted to the minister.

The Baron de Listomere went immediately to an uncle of his, a deputy, who could see the minister of the Navy at the chamber without loss of time, and begged him to find out the real intentions of his Excellency in a matter which threatened the loss of his whole future. He waited in his uncle’s carriage with the utmost anxiety for the end of the session. His uncle came out before the Chamber rose, and said to him at once as they drove away: “Why the devil have you meddled in a priest’s quarrel? The minister began by telling me you had put yourself at the head of the Radicals in Tours; that your political opinions were objectionable; you were not following in the lines of the government, – with other remarks as much involved as if he were addressing the Chamber. On that I said to him, ‘Nonsense; let us come to the point.’ The end was that his Excellency told me frankly you were in bad odor with the diocese. In short, I made a few inquiries among my colleagues, and I find that you have been talking slightingly of a certain Abbe Troubert, the vicar-general, but a very important personage in the province, where he represents the Jesuits. I have made myself responsible to the minister for your future conduct. My good nephew, if you want to make your way be careful not to excite ecclesiastical enmities. Go at once to Tours and try to make your peace with that devil of a vicar-general; remember that such priests are men with whom we absolutely must live in harmony. Good heavens! when we are all striving and working to re-establish religion it is actually stupid, in a lieutenant who wants to be made a captain, to affront the priests. If you don’t make up matters with that Abbe Troubert you needn’t count on me; I shall abandon you. The minister of ecclesiastical affairs told me just now that Troubert was certain to be made bishop before long; if he takes a dislike to our family he could hinder me from being included in the next batch of peers. Don’t you understand?”

These words explained to the naval officer the nature of Troubert’s secret occupations, about which Birotteau often remarked in his silly way: “I can’t think what he does with himself, – sitting up all night.”

The canon’s position in the midst of his female senate, converted so adroitly into provincial detectives, and his personal capacity, had induced the Congregation of Jesus to select him out of all the ecclesiastics in the town, as the secret proconsul of Touraine. Archbishop, general, prefect, all men, great and small, were under his occult dominion. The Baron de Listomere decided at once on his course.

“I shall take care,” he said to his uncle, “not to get another round shot below my water-line.”

Three days after this diplomatic conference between the uncle and nephew, the latter, returning hurriedly in a post-chaise, informed his aunt, the very night of his arrival, of the dangers the family were running if they persisted in supporting that “fool of a Birotteau.” The baron had detained Monsieur de Bourbonne as the old gentleman was taking his hat and cane after the usual rubber of whist. The clear-sightedness of that sly old fox seemed indispensable for an understanding of the reefs among which the Listomere family suddenly found themselves; and perhaps the action of taking his hat and cane was only a ruse to have it whispered in his ear: “Stay after the others; we want to talk to you.”

The baron’s sudden return, his apparent satisfaction, which was quite out of keeping with a harassed look that occasionally crossed his face, informed Monsieur de Bourbonne vaguely that the lieutenant had met with some check in his crusade against Gamard and Troubert. He showed no surprise when the baron revealed the secret power of the Jesuit vicar-general.

“I knew that,” he said.

“Then why,” cried the baroness, “did you not warn us?”

“Madame,” he said, sharply, “forget that I was aware of the invisible influence of that priest, and I will forget that you knew it equally well. If we do not keep this secret now we shall be thought his accomplices, and shall be more feared and hated than we are. Do as I do; pretend to be duped; but look carefully where you set your feet. I did warn you sufficiently, but you would not understand me, and I did not choose to compromise myself.”

“What must we do now?” said the baron.

The abandonment of Birotteau was not even made a question; it was a first condition tacitly accepted by the three deliberators.

“To beat a retreat with the honors of war has always been the triumph of the ablest generals,” replied Monsieur de Bourbonne. “Bow to Troubert, and if his hatred is less strong than his vanity you will make him your ally; but if you bow too low he will walk over you rough-shod; make believe that you intend to leave the service, and you’ll escape him, Monsieur le baron. Send away Birotteau, madame, and you will set things right with Mademoiselle Gamard. Ask the Abbe Troubert, when you meet him at the archbishop’s, if he can play whist. He will say yes. Then invite him to your salon, where he wants to be received; he’ll be sure to come. You are a woman, and you can certainly win a priest to your interests. When the baron is promoted, his uncle peer of France, and Troubert a bishop, you can make Birotteau a canon if you choose. Meantime yield, – but yield gracefully, all the while with a slight menace. Your family can give Troubert quite as much support as he can give you. You’ll understand each other perfectly on that score. As for you, sailor, carry your deep-sea line about you.”

“Poor Birotteau?” said the baroness.

“Oh, get rid of him at once,” replied the old man, as he rose to take leave. “If some clever Radical lays hold of that empty head of his, he may cause you much trouble. After all, the court would certainly give a verdict in his favour, and Troubert must fear that. He may forgive you for beginning the struggle, but if they were defeated he would be implacable. I have said my say.”

He snapped his snuff-box, put on his overshoes, and departed.

The next day after breakfast the baroness took the vicar aside and said to him, not without visible embarrassment: —

“My dear Monsieur Birotteau, you will think what I am about to ask of you very unjust and very inconsistent; but it is necessary, both for you and for us, that your lawsuit with Mademoiselle Gamard be withdrawn by resigning your claims, and also that you should leave my house.”

As he heard these words the poor abbe turned pale.

“I am,” she continued, “the innocent cause of your misfortunes, and, moreover, if it had not been for my nephew you would never have begun this lawsuit, which has now turned to your injury and to ours. But listen to me.”

She told him succinctly the immense ramifications of the affair, and explained the serious nature of its consequences. Her own meditations during the night had told her something of the probable antecedents of Troubert’s life; she was able, without misleading Birotteau, to show him the net so ably woven round him by revenge, and to make him see the power and great capacity of his enemy, whose hatred to Chapeloud, under whom he had been forced to crouch for a dozen years, now found vent in seizing Chapeloud’s property and in persecuting Chapeloud in the person of his friend. The harmless Birotteau clasped his hands as if to pray, and wept with distress at the sight of human horrors that his own pure soul was incapable of suspecting. As frightened as though he had suddenly found himself at the edge of a precipice, he listened, with fixed, moist eyes in which there was no expression, to the revelations of his friend, who ended by saying: “I know the wrong I do in abandoning your cause; but, my dear abbe, family duties must be considered before those of friendship. Yield, as I do, to this storm, and I will prove to you my gratitude. I am not talking of your worldly interests, for those I take charge of. You shall be made free of all such anxieties for the rest of your life. By means of Monsieur de Bourbonne, who will know how to save appearances, I shall arrange matters so that you shall lack nothing. My friend, grant me the right to abandon you. I shall ever be your friend, though forced to conform to the axioms of the world. You must decide.”

The poor, bewildered abbe cried aloud: “Chapeloud was right when he said that if Troubert could drag him by the feet out of his grave he would do it! He sleeps in Chapeloud’s bed!”

“There is no use in lamenting,” said Madame de Listomere, “and we have little time now left to us. How will you decide?”

Birotteau was too good and kind not to obey in a great crisis the unreflecting impulse of the moment. Besides, his life was already in the agony of what to him was death. He said, with a despairing look at his protectress which cut her to the heart, “I trust myself to you – I am but the stubble of the streets.”

He used the Tourainean word “bourrier” which has no other meaning than a “bit of straw.” But there are pretty little straws, yellow, polished, and shining, the delight of children, whereas the bourrier is straw discolored, muddy, sodden in the puddles, whirled by the tempest, crushed under feet of men.

“But, madame, I cannot let the Abbe Troubert keep Chapeloud’s portrait. It was painted for me, it belongs to me; obtain that for me, and I will give up all the rest.”

“Well,” said Madame de Listomere. “I will go myself to Mademoiselle Gamard.” The words were said in a tone which plainly showed the immense effort the Baronne de Listomere was making in lowering herself to flatter the pride of the old maid. “I will see what can be done,” she said; “I hardly dare hope anything. Go and consult Monsieur de Bourbonne; ask him to put your renunciation into proper form, and bring me the paper. I will see the archbishop, and with his help we may be able to stop the matter here.”

Birotteau left the house dismayed. Troubert assumed in his eyes the dimensions of an Egyptian pyramid. The hands of that man were in Paris, his elbows in the Cloister of Saint-Gatien.

“He!” said the victim to himself, “He to prevent the Baron de Listomere from becoming peer of France! – and, perhaps, ‘by the help of the archbishop we may be able to stop the matter here’!”

In presence of such great interests Birotteau felt he was a mere worm; he judged himself harshly.

The news of Birotteau’s removal from Madame de Listomere’s house seemed all the more amazing because the reason of it was wholly impenetrable. Madame de Listomere said that her nephew was intending to marry and leave the navy, and she wanted the vicar’s apartment to enlarge her own. Birotteau’s relinquishment was still unknown. The advice of Monsieur de Bourbonne was followed. Whenever the two facts reached the ears of the vicar-general his self-love was certain to be gratified by the assurance they gave that even if the Listomere family did not capitulate they would at least remain neutral and tacitly recognize the occult power of the Congregation, – to recognize it was, in fact, to submit to it. But the lawsuit was still sub-judice; his opponents yielded and threatened at the same time.

The Listomeres had thus taken precisely the same attitude as the vicar-general himself; they held themselves aloof, and yet were able to direct others. But just at this crisis an event occurred which complicated the plans laid by Monsieur de Bourbonne and the Listomeres to quiet the Gamard and Troubert party, and made them more difficult to carry out.

Mademoiselle Gamard took cold one evening in coming out of the cathedral; the next day she was confined to her bed, and soon after became dangerously ill. The whole town rang with pity and false commiseration: “Mademoiselle Gamard’s sensitive nature has not been able to bear the scandal of this lawsuit. In spite of the justice of her cause she was likely to die of grief. Birotteau has killed his benefactress.” Such were the speeches poured through the capillary tubes of the great female conclave, and taken up and repeated by the whole town of Tours.

Madame de Listomere went the day after Mademoiselle Gamard took cold to pay the promised visit, and she had the mortification of that act without obtaining any benefit from it, for the old maid was too ill to see her. She then asked politely to speak to the vicar-general.

Gratified, no doubt, to receive in Chapeloud’s library, at the corner of the fireplace above which hung the two contested pictures, the woman who had hitherto ignored him, Troubert kept the baroness waiting a moment before he consented to admit her. No courtier and no diplomatist ever put into a discussion of their personal interests or into the management of some great national negotiation more shrewdness, dissimulation, and ability than the baroness and the priest displayed when they met face to face for the struggle.

Like the seconds or sponsors who in the Middle Age armed the champion, and strengthened his valor by useful counsel until he entered the lists, so the sly old fox had said to the baroness at the last moment: “Don’t forget your cue. You are a mediator, and not an interested party. Troubert also is a mediator. Weigh your words; study the inflection of the man’s voice. If he strokes his chin you have got him.”

Some sketchers are fond of caricaturing the contrast often observable between “what is said” and “what is thought” by the speaker. To catch the full meaning of the duel of words which now took place between the priest and the lady, it is necessary to unveil the thoughts that each hid from the other under spoken sentences of apparent insignificance. Madame de Listomere began by expressing the regret she had felt at Birotteau’s lawsuit; and then went on to speak of her desire to settle the matter to the satisfaction of both parties.

“The harm is done, madame,” said the priest, in a grave voice. “The pious and excellent Mademoiselle Gamard is dying.” (“I don’t care a fig for the old thing,” thought he, “but I mean to put her death on your shoulders and harass your conscience if you are such a fool as to listen to it.”)

“On hearing of her illness,” replied the baroness, “I entreated Monsieur Birotteau to relinquish his claims; I have brought the document, intending to give it to that excellent woman.” (“I see what you mean, you wily scoundrel,” thought she, “but we are safe now from your calumnies. If you take this document you’ll cut your own fingers by admitting you are an accomplice.”)

There was silence for a moment.

“Mademoiselle Gamard’s temporal affairs do not concern me,” said the priest at last, lowering the large lids over his eagle eyes to veil his emotions. (“Ho! ho!” thought he, “you can’t compromise me. Thank God, those damned lawyers won’t dare to plead any cause that could smirch me. What do these Listomeres expect to get by crouching in this way?”)

“Monsieur,” replied the baroness, “Monsieur Birotteau’s affairs are no more mine than those of Mademoiselle Gamard are yours; but, unfortunately, religion is injured by such a quarrel, and I come to you as a mediator – just as I myself am seeking to make peace.” (“We are not deceiving each other, Monsieur Troubert,” thought she. “Don’t you feel the sarcasm of that answer?”)

“Injury to religion, madame!” exclaimed the vicar-general. “Religion is too lofty for the actions of men to injure.” (“My religion is I,” thought he.) “God makes no mistake in His judgments, madame; I recognize no tribunal but His.”

“Then, monsieur,” she replied, “let us endeavor to bring the judgments of men into harmony with the judgments of God.” (“Yes, indeed, your religion is you.”)

The Abbe Troubert suddenly changed his tone.

“Your nephew has been to Paris, I believe.” (“You found out about me there,” thought he; “you know now that I can crush you, you who dared to slight me, and you have come to capitulate.”)

“Yes, monsieur; thank you for the interest you take in him. He returns to-night; the minister, who is very considerate of us, sent for him; he does not want Monsieur de Listomere to leave the service.” (“Jesuit, you can’t crush us,” thought she. “I understand your civility.”)

A moment’s silence.

“I did not think my nephew’s conduct in this affair quite the thing,” she added; “but naval men must be excused; they know nothing of law.” (“Come, we had better make peace,” thought she; “we sha’n’t gain anything by battling in this way.”)

A slight smile wandered over the priests face and was lost in its wrinkles.

“He has done us the service of getting a proper estimate on the value of those paintings,” he said, looking up at the pictures. “They will be a noble ornament to the chapel of the Virgin.” (“You shot a sarcasm at me,” thought he, “and there’s another in return; we are quits, madame.”)

“If you intend to give them to Saint-Gatien, allow me to offer frames that will be more suitable and worthy of the place, and of the works themselves.” (“I wish I could force you to betray that you have taken Birotteau’s things for your own,” thought she.)

“They do not belong to me,” said the priest, on his guard.

“Here is the deed of relinquishment,” said Madame de Listomere; “it ends all discussion, and makes them over to Mademoiselle Gamard.” She laid the document on the table. (“See the confidence I place in you,” thought she.) “It is worthy of you, monsieur,” she added, “worthy of your noble character, to reconcile two Christians, – though at present I am not especially concerned for Monsieur Birotteau – ”

“He is living in your house,” said Troubert, interrupting her.

“No, monsieur, he is no longer there.” (“That peerage and my nephew’s promotion force me to do base things,” thought she.)

The priest remained impassible, but his calm exterior was an indication of violent emotion. Monsieur Bourbonne alone had fathomed the secret of that apparent tranquillity. The priest had triumphed!

“Why did you take upon yourself to bring that relinquishment,” he asked, with a feeling analogous to that which impels a woman to fish for compliments.

“I could not avoid a feeling of compassion. Birotteau, whose feeble nature must be well known to you, entreated me to see Madaemoiselle Gamard and to obtain as the price of his renunciation – ”

The priest frowned.

“of rights upheld by distinguished lawyers, the portrait of – ”

Troubert looked fixedly at Madame de Listomere.