CHAPTER II
Turn Vagabond!
The archdeacon, on returning to the cloisters, found his brother, Jehan du Moulin, awaiting him at the door of his cell. He had whiled away the fatigue of waiting by drawing upon the wall in charcoal his elder brother’s profile, enriched with an exaggerated nose.
Dom Claude scarcely looked at his brother; he had other cares. That merry roguish face, whose radiance had so often brightened the priest’s gloomy countenance, was now incapable of dissipating the clouds which grew daily thicker over that corrupt, mephitic, stagnant soul.
“Brother,” timidly said Jehan, “I have come to see you.”
The archdeacon did not even deign to look at him.
“Well?”
“Brother,” continued the hypocrite, “you are so good to me, and you give me such good advice, that I am always coming back to you.”
“Well?”
“Alas! brother, how right you were when you said to me, ‘Jehan! Jehan! cessat doctorum doctrina, discipulorum, disciplina! Jehan, be prudent; Jehan, be studious; Jehan, do not wander outside the college bounds at night without just cause and leave from your master. Do not quarrel with the Picards (noli, Joannes, verberare Picardos). Do not lie and molder like an illiterate ass (quasi asinus illiteratus) amidst the litter of the schools. Jehan, suffer yourself to be punished at the discretion of your master. Jehan, go to chapel every evening, and sing an anthem with a collect and prayer to our Glorious Lady, the Virgin Mary.’ Alas! What excellent counsels were these!”
“Well?”
“Brother, you see before you a guilty wretch, a criminal, a miserable sinner, a libertine, a monster! My dear brother, Jehan has trampled your advice beneath his feet. I am fitly punished for it, and the good God is strangely just. So long as I had money I rioted and reveled and led a jolly life. Oh, how charming is the face of Vice, but how ugly and crooked is her back! Now, I have not a single silver coin; I have sold my table-cloth, my shirt, and my towel; no more feasting for me! The wax candle has burned out, and I have nothing left but a wretched tallow dip, which reeks in my nostrils. The girls laugh at me. I drink water. I am tormented by creditors and remorse.”
“What else?” said the archdeacon.
“Alas! dearest brother, I would fain lead a better life. I came to you full of contrition. I am penitent. I confess my sins. I beat my breast lustily. You were quite right to wish me to become a licentiate, and submonitor of the College de Torchi. I now feel that I have the strongest vocation for that office. But I have no ink, I must buy some; I have no pens, I must buy some; I have no paper, I have no books, I must buy some. I am in great want of a little money for all these things, and I come to you, brother, with a contrite heart.”
“Is that all?”
“Yes,” said the student. “A little money.”
“I have none.”
The student then said with a grave and at the same time resolute air, “Very well, brother: I am sorry to be obliged to tell you that very fine offers and propositions have been made me by another party. You will not give me the money? No? In that case, I shall turn Vagabond.”
As he uttered this monstrous word, he assumed the expression of an Ajax, expecting to see the thunderbolt descend upon his head.
The archdeacon said coldly,—
“Turn Vagabond!”
Jehan bowed low and hurried down the cloister stairs, whistling as he went.
Just as he passed through the courtyard of the cloisters, under his brother’s window, he heard that window open, looked up, and saw the archdeacon’s stern face at the aperture.
“Go to the devil!” said Dom Claude; “this is the last money which you will ever get from me!”
At the same time he flung at Jehan a purse which raised a large lump on his forehead, and with which he departed, at once angry and pleased, like a dog pelted with marrow-bones.