the vicar of tours-第11节

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roots　was　so　artless；　it　showed　so　plainly　the　purity　of　his　ways　and

his　ignorance　of　the　things　of　life；　that　Madame　de　Listomere　and

Mademoiselle　de　Salomon　talked　to　him　and　consoled　him　in　the　tone

which　mothers　take　when　they　promise　a　plaything　to　their　children。



〃Don't　fret　about　such　trifles；〃　they　said。　〃We　will　find　you　some

place　less　cold　and　dismal　than　Mademoiselle　Gamard's　gloomy　house。　If

we　can't　find　anything　you　like；　one　or　other　of　us　will　take　you　to

live　with　us。　Come；　let's　play　a　game　of　backgammon。　To…morrow　you　can

go　and　see　the　Abbe　Troubert　and　ask　him　to　push　your　claims　to　the

canonry；　and　you'll　see　how　cordially　he　will　receive　you。〃



Feeble　folk　are　as　easily　reassured　as　they　are　frightened。　So　the

poor　abbe；　dazzled　at　the　prospect　of　living　with　Madame　de　Listomere；

forgot　the　destruction；　now　completed；　of　the　happiness　he　had　so　long

desired；　and　so　delightfully　enjoyed。　But　at　night　before　going　to

sleep；　the　distress　of　a　man　to　whom　the　fuss　of　moving　and　the

breaking　up　of　all　his　habits　was　like　the　end　of　the　world；　came　upon

him；　and　he　racked　his　brains　to　imagine　how　he　could　ever　find　such　a

good　place　for　his　book…case　as　the　gallery　in　the　old　maid's　house。

Fancying　he　saw　his　books　scattered　about；　his　furniture　defaced；　his

regular　life　turned　topsy…turvy；　he　asked　himself　for　the　thousandth

time　why　the　first　year　spent　in　Mademoiselle　Gamard's　house　had　been

so　sweet；　the　second　so　cruel。　His　troubles　were　a　pit　in　which　his

reason　floundered。　The　canonry　seemed　to　him　small　compensation　for　so

much　misery；　and　he　compared　his　life　to　a　stocking　in　which　a　single

dropped　stitch　resulted　in　destroying　the　whole　fabric。　Mademoiselle

Salomon　remained　to　him。　But；　alas；　in　losing　his　old　illusions　the

poor　priest　dared　not　trust　in　any　later　friendship。



In　the　〃citta　dolente〃　of　spinsterhood　we　often　meet；　especially　in

France；　with　women　whose　lives　are　a　sacrifice　nobly　and　daily　offered

to　noble　sentiments。　Some　remain　proudly　faithful　to　a　heart　which

death　tore　from　them；　martyrs　of　love；　they　learn　the　secrets　of

womanhood　only　though　their　souls。　Others　obey　some　family　pride

（which　in　our　days；　and　to　our　shame；　decreases　steadily）；　these

devote　themselves　to　the　welfare　of　a　brother；　or　to　orphan　nephews；

they　are　mothers　while　remaining　virgins。　Such　old　maids　attain　to　the

highest　heroism　of　their　sex　by　consecrating　all　feminine　feelings　to

the　help　of　sorrow。　They　idealize　womanhood　by　renouncing　the　rewards

of　woman's　destiny；　accepting　its　pains。　They　live　surrounded　by　the

splendour　of　their　devotion；　and　men　respectfully　bow　the　head　before

their　faded　features。　Mademoiselle　de　Sombreuil　was　neither　wife　nor

maid；　she　was　and　ever　will　be　a　living　poem。　Mademoiselle　Salomon　de

Villenoix　belonged　to　the　race　of　these　heroic　beings。　Her　devotion

was　religiously　sublime；　inasmuch　as　it　won　her　no　glory　after　being；

for　years；　a　daily　agony。　Beautiful　and　young；　she　loved　and　was

beloved；　her　lover　lost　his　reason。　For　five　years　she　gave　herself；

with　love's　devotion；　to　the　mere　mechanical　well…being　of　that

unhappy　man；　whose　madness　she　so　penetrated　that　she　never　believed

him　mad。　She　was　simple　in　manner；　frank　in　speech；　and　her　pallid

face　was　not　lacking　in　strength　and　character；　though　its　features

were　regular。　She　never　spoke　of　the　events　of　her　life。　But　at　times

a　sudden　quiver　passed　over　her　as　she　listened　to　the　story　of　some

sad　or　dreadful　incident；　thus　betraying　the　emotions　that　great

sufferings　had　developed　within　her。　She　had　come　to　live　at　Tours

after　losing　the　companion　of　her　life；　but　she　was　not　appreciated

there　at　her　true　value　and　was　thought　to　be　merely　an　amiable　woman。

She　did　much　good；　and　attached　herself；　by　preference；　to　feeble

beings。　For　that　reason　the　poor　vicar　had　naturally　inspired　her　with

a　deep　interest。



Mademoiselle　de　Villenoix；　who　returned　to　Tours　the　next　morning；

took　Birotteau　with　her　and　set　him　down　on　the　quay　of　the　cathedral

leaving　him　to　make　his　own　way　to　the　Cloister；　where　he　was　bent　on

going；　to　save　at　least　the　canonry　and　to　superintend　the　removal　of

his　furniture。　He　rang；　not　without　violent　palpitations　of　the　heart；

at　the　door　of　the　house　whither；　for　fourteen　years；　he　had　come

daily；　and　where　he　had　lived　blissfully；　and　from　which　he　was　now

exiled　forever；　after　dreaming　that　he　should　die　there　in　peace　like

his　friend　Chapeloud。　Marianne　was　surprised　at　the　vicar's　visit。　He

told　her　that　he　had　come　to　see　the　Abbe　Troubert；　and　turned　towards

the　ground…floor　apartment　where　the　canon　lived；　but　Marianne　called

to　him：



〃Not　there；　monsieur　le　vicaire；　the　Abbe　Troubert　is　in　your　old

apartment。〃



These　words　gave　the　vicar　a　frightful　shock。　He　was　forced　to

comprehend　both　Troubert's　character　and　the　depths　of　the　revenge　so

slowly　brought　about　when　he　found　the　canon　settled　in　Chapeloud's

library；　seated　in　Chapeloud's　handsome　armchair；　sleeping；　no　doubt；

in　Chapeloud's　bed；　and　disinheriting　at　last　the　friend　of　Chapeloud；

the　man　who；　for　so　many　years；　had　confined　him　to　Mademoiselle

Gamard's　house；　by　preventing　his　advancement　in　the　church；　and

closing　the　best　salons　in　Tours　against　him。　By　what　magic　wand　had

the　present　transformation　taken　place？　Surely　these　things　belonged

to　Birotteau？　And　yet；　observing　the　sardonic　air　with　which　Troubert

glanced　at　that　bookcase；　the　poor　abbe　knew　that　the　future　vicar…

general　felt　certain　of　possessing　the　spoils　of　those　he　had　so

bitterly　hated；Chapeloud　as　an　enemy；　and　Birotteau；　in　and　through

whom　Chapeloud　still　thwarted　him。　Ideas　rose　in　the　heart　of　the　poor

man　at　the　sight；　and　plunged　him　into　a　sort　of　vision。　He　stood

motionless；　as　though　fascinated　by　Troubert's　eyes　which　fixed

themselves　upon　him。



〃I　do　not　suppose；　monsieur；〃　said　Birotteau　at　last；　〃that　you　intend

to　deprive　me　of　the　things　that　belong　to　me。　Mademoiselle　may　have

been　impatient　to　give　you　better　lodgings；　but　she　ought　to　have　been

sufficiently　just　to　give　me　time　to　pack　my　books　and　remove　my

furniture。〃



〃Monsieur；〃　said　the　Abbe　Troubert；　coldly；　not　permitting　any　sign　of

emotion　to　appear　on　his　face；　〃Mademoiselle　Gamard　told　me　yesterday

of　your　departure；　the　cause　of　which　is　still　unknown　to　me。　If　she

installed　me　here　at　once；　it　was　from　necessity。　The　Abbe　Poirel　has

taken　my　apartment。　I　do　not　know　if　the　furniture　and　things　that　are

in　these　rooms　belong　to　you　or　to　Mademoiselle；　but　if　they　are

yours；　you　know　her　scrupulous　honesty；　the　sanctity　of　her　life　is

the　guarantee　of　her　rectitude。　As　for　me；　you　are　well　aware　of　my

simple　modes　of　living。　I　have　slept　for　fifteen　years　in　a　bare　room

without　complaining　of　the　dampness；which；　eventually　will　have

caused　my　death。　Nevertheless；　if　you　wish　to　return　to　this　apartment

I　will　cede　it　to　you　willingly。〃



After　hearing　these　terrible　words；　Birotteau　forgot　the　canonry　and

ran　downstairs　as　quickly　as　a　young　man　to　find　Mademoiselle　Gamard。

He　met　her　at　the　foot　of　the　staircase；　on　the　broad；　tiled　landing

which　united　the　two　wings　of　the　house。



〃Mademoiselle；〃　he　said；　bowing　to　her　without　paying　any　attention　to

the　bitter　and　derisive　smile　that　was　on　her　lips；　nor　to　the

extraordinary　flame　in　her　eyes　which　made　them　lucent　as　a　tiger's；

〃I　cannot　understand　how　it　is　that　you　have　not　waited　until　I

removed　my　furniture　before〃



〃What！〃　she　said；　interrupting　him；　〃is　it　possible　that　your　things

have　not　been　left　at　Madame　de　Listomere's？〃



〃But　my　furniture？〃



〃Haven't　you　read　your　deed？〃　said　the　old　maid；　in　a　tone　which　would

have　to　be　rendered　in　music　before　the　shades　of　meaning　that　hatred

is　able　to　put　into　the　accent　of　every　word　could　be　fully　shown。



Mademoiselle　Gamard　seemed　to　rise　in　stature；　her　eyes　shone；　her

face　expanded；　her　whole　person　quivered　with　pleasure。　The　Abbe

Troubert　opened　a　window　to　get　a　better　light　on　the　folio　volume　he

was　reading。　Birotteau　stood　as　if　a　thunderbolt　had　stricken　him。

Mademoiselle　Gamard　made　his　ears　hum　when　she　enunciated　in　a　voice

as　clear　as　a　cornet　the　following　sentence：



〃Was　it　not　agreed　that　if　you　left　my　house　your　furniture　should

belong　to　me；　to　indemnify　me　for　the　difference　in　the　price　of　board

paid　by　you　and　that　paid　by　the　late　venerable　Abbe　Chapeloud？　Now；

as　the　Abbe　Poirel　has　just　been　appointed　canon〃



Hearing　the　last　words　Birotteau　made　a　feeble　bow　as　if　to　take　leave

of　the　old　maid；　and　left　the　house　precipitately。　He　was　afraid　if　he

stayed　longer　that　he　should　break　down　utterly；　and　give　too　great　a

triumph　to　his　implacable　enemies。　Walking　like　a　dunken　man　he　at

last　reached　Madame　de　Listomere's　house；　where　he　found　in　one　of　the

lower　rooms　his　linen；　his　clothin