Beauregard de Farniente - The Adventures of Father Silas

“Agatha,” said he, “I do not blame your pleasures, but you ought to have some consideration for me; I love Javote (that was the name Martin had assumed), and I have vigor enough to satisfy you both.”

As he finished speaking he wanted to embrace Martin, he drew him from my arms, put down his hand and found… How great was his astonishment!-Without leaving hold of Martin, he gave me a look of indignation, and as he dared not vent his rage on me, all the force of it fell on the innocent cause of it. His love was changed into madness; he beat Martin most brutally, and in so doing wounded me in my most sensible part. I threw myself between the rivals.

“Hold!” said I to Verland, embracing him, “respect his youth for God's sake, for our love's sake! Verland take pity on his weakness, be sensible to my tears.”

He stood still; but Martin, who had time to recover his presence of mind, had become furious in this turn. He seized Verland's sword, and rushed upon him. At seeing this, I took to flight, and escaped by a private staircase and ran here; you know the rest.

Agatha burst into tears as she finished her story, and exclaimed, “Alas! What destiny awaits me?”

“The happiest,” said I; “take courage, Agatha; it is very probable that you have no real cause to lament. If you bemoan the loss of your pleasures, still greater attend you.”

It was impossible for me to keep her any longer in my chamber without discovery, and I thought my best plan would be to turn her over to our seraglio. I had no fear of promising her too much, in assuring her that the pleasures she had hitherto known were but a faint image of those that were reserved for her. The fish house must be a heavenly abode for a temperament like hers.

“My dear friend,” said she, “do not abandon me; can I remain with you? Your answer must decide my fate; if I lose you, I shall be wretched.” I assured her that I would not abandon her.

“Then I have now but one thing that disturbs me; your love is strong enough to overlook my weakness.”

I perceived what she alluded to, and offered to go and obtain information of the condition of her lovers, and respecting the effect produced by her own flight, for which she thanked me fervently. I left her alone, and went out with a promise to return speedily.

I went into the town and made inquiries whether there was any news; I then proceeded to the neighbourhood of Verland's residence, but could not learn that anything had transpired; so I supposed that the incident had no other consequences than the elopement of Agatha. I was returning to the convent, when I saw a servant running to meet me. He told me that Father Andrew had charged him to give me a letter and a purse containing a hundred pistoles. I at first thought the Father wished me to execute some commission for him. I opened the letter and read as follows:

Your precautions have betrayed you: they have opened your chamber and found the treasure which you wished to secrete from your brethren, have seized it, and consigned it to the fish-house. You know the nature of monks, my dear Silas; fly, fly, and save yourself the horrors of an eternal prison.

Father Andrew

I was completely thunderstruck on reading this letter which in a manner, deprived me of my senses.

“O heaven!” I cried, “what will become of me! Shall I expose myself to monkish vengeance, or fly? Unhappy man! I must not hesitate, but hasten far away. But whither! Where can I secrete myself?”

It suddenly struck me that Ambrose might afford me an asylum in the present emergency; so I took courage and resolved to go thither, thinking myself fortunate at being preserved from the resentment of the monks by the generous interference of Father Andrew.

I could not without grief exile myself from a place where I left all that was most dear to me. My mind writhing under the lashings of remorse and oppressed by despair, I arrived at the cottage of Ambrose. Annette was alone, she wept over my misfortunes, and what was still better, offered to aid me as far as lay in her power. In the first place she gave me some of her husband's clothes to conceal my priestly estate. The next day, I started for Paris, hoping to find there some mode of life that might compensate for my recent loss.

As I left my native province, I shook off the dust of my feet, in imitation of the apostles, as a testimony against its ingratitude, and on foot, staff in hand, I pursued my journey to Paris. When I reached the metropolis, I thought myself safe from the monks, and the purse sent me by Father Andrew and some addition made to it by Annette, would very well support me for some months. My first intention was to look out for a situation as a teacher, and await a chance of getting something better. I had acquaintances in Paris who could have been of service to me in that way, but I thought it might be dangerous to discover myself to them. I changed my peasant's dress for one much more respectable by giving a moderate sum into the bargain; and happy should I have been, had I changed my nature as completely as my personal appearance. The dreadful situation into which my amorous propensity had brought me made me hope that I should henceforward be able to keep it in due subjection. I had even sworn to do so; foolishly thinking to enchain by a voluntary oath what the most sacred bonds had failed to restrain. What a bundle of weaknesses is man!

One day, when walking in the street, I was pushed down; the push was not very violent, as it proceeded from the elbow of a coquettish young woman, who, on applying it, exclaimed: “Well, Abbe, won't you treat me to a salad?”

“To two, if you like,” said I, stimulated by my natural character. I instantly reflected that this was rather imprudent but I was too far engaged to draw back. We proceeded into a dark, narrow passage, and I thought a thousand times that I must break my neck in the twisting staircase, for the steps were so unlevel and slippery that I stumbled every moment, though my lass kept hold of my hand. I will acknowledge that having never been in similar circumstances I could not avoid feeling a kind of timidity at which my conductress would have laughed heartily, had she known my quality. At last after much trouble we reached the door of my companion's abode. When we knocked, an old hag, apparently more ancient than the Cumean sibyl, opened to us, or rather only half-opened.

“My little king,” said she, “you must wait a moment, for there is company; go up a little higher.”

To go up higher was rather difficult, unless one went up into the sky; I felt a door near me, and as it gave way to my hand, I went in, I soon found by the odor of the place where I had got to.

As I stood thus alone, in a horrid place, at the extremity of the world, in a bad neighborhood, among people altogether unknown to me, I could not avoid a feeling of terror thrilling through my frame. The danger that I had incurred presented itself to my mind; and I had determined to effect my escape. Something, however, more powerful than my own resolution arrested my steps; it seemed as if an immense expanse of ocean spread out before my eyes and prevented my gaining the opposite shore. Has not heaven engraved in our hearts the presentiment of what is to befall us? There can be no doubt of it; I experienced it. At this instant the fatal door opened, and some one called me. I was then rushing on my destruction, but how great was the joy that preceded it.

I entered the room with a timid bashful air, and sat down without speaking, supporting my elbow upon a rickety table, and covering my eyes with my hand as if to seek shelter from the reflections that oppressed me. The infernal old hag came to ask me to pay the usual fee of admission; I gave her a liberal present and she thanked me. My sorrowful appearance astonished the priestesses of the temple, and the old woman again approached to ask me the cause of it. I repulsed her sternly, and she said I was uncivil.