“No, I haven’t read it…haven’t had the time!”
“Well, he’s a fellow in the genre of Abbé Constantin,77 become a bishop. He’s the pastor who would not only give his life for his flock but pawn his purple stockings to give them something to eat.”
“Your metaphors are poetic.”
“Perfectly justified! Monseigneur Bénin-Despalmes, by dint of helping unfortunates publicly and privately, has seen his treasury emptied—and then there was the Tassigny-la-Raclée affair, which has put him in a very unfortunate pecuniary situation.
“The Tassigny-la-Raclée affair?”
“Yes! The village of Tassigny-la-Raclée possesses a young woman named Sophie Poirier, who is favored by celestial apparitions. The Archangel Michael has appeared several times to the young woman and expressed to her the desire to have a basilica at the very place where she looks after livestock. Abbé Tronche, the curé of Tassigny, ran to the archbishop, fired up with enthusiasm. Monseigneur Bénin-Despalmes, in spite of his prudence, didn’t want to disappoint the venerable ecclesiastic, who had been his fellow student at the seminary. He agreed that the edification of the basilica, on condition that there wasn’t too much emphasis on the visionary, was perfectly orthodox and commendable. But as the parochial budget of Tassigny-la-Raclée was insufficient for the purchase of the first stone, a subscription was opened. The subscription wasn’t a great success. Then—and this is the villain of the story—the archbishop, out of pure generosity of soul, gave personal guarantees to the architect and the contractors. The first bills are beginning to come in, and Monseigneur Bénin-Despalmes is having all the trouble in the world honoring his signature.”
The journalist darted a glance at the man of law, who did not appear to be listening.
“Well,” said his comrade, “it seems to me that the Tafoireau stable is arriving right on time. Peau-de-Balle appears to me, in that circumstance, to be a sort of Messiah, a delegate of Providence. If he only wins for the archbishop what he won for La Tafoireau...”
At that moment a young priest came in and headed swiftly toward the man of law.
“Monseigneur is waiting for Maître Dessumeaux... Messieurs, please excuse me for being the bearer of bad news, but Monseigneur Bénin-Despalmes has decided, as a rule of prudence before which it is appropriate to incline, not to receive any member of the press in the present political circumstances.”
“Just one word, Monsieur l’Abbé—it’s not about politics. What will Monseigneur do with his racing stable?”
The young priest maintained an impassive visage. “I can only tell you one thing, Messieurs. His Highness is completely ignorant, at the present moment, of the heritage to which you allude.”
He left with the notary. The two journalists looked at one another, and burst out laughing.
“Come on, old chap, let’s go to the local café. We can write our interview there, and it won’t be a load of codswallop.”
II. The Sinner’s Wealth
Maître Dessumeaux, introduced into the archbishop’s audience chamber, advanced toward the prelate by means of a number of adroit little skids over the bare and admirably waxed parquet. Having arrived before Monseigneur Bénin-Despalmes, who had Abbé Douillet, his senior curate, to his right, he bowed in a very pure fashion exactly appropriate to the circumstance.
“Monseigneur,” he said, “I’ve arrived from Paris by the express, in order to inform you of an event…a sad event…that has entirely personal consequences for you.”
He darted a glance at the curate, who made a discreet movement to withdraw.
“Stay, stay, Monsieur,” said the prelate, smiling.. None of my personal affairs can be secret from you, thank God, or anyone else.”
The notary made an amiable and vague gesture signifying: Since that’s the case.... Then, having sat down at the prelate’s invitation, he announced: “You have doubtless learned, Monseigneur, of the decease of Madame Caroline Tafoireau, your relative?”
“My relative…?” said the archbishop, surprised. “Indeed, on reflection, the name isn’t unknown to me. I once heard my mother pronounce it: it was a matter of a lady, Céleste Tafoireau, a resident of Paris, who was her distant cousin. She must be very old...”
“It’s the daughter of that lady who died last week.” The notary hesitated before adding: “The deceased had also employed the…pseudonym of Mag Iris.”
“Her daughter? In fact, she did have a daughter, who, if my memory is exact, entered a convent.”
The notary did not flinch. By contrast, the curate pursed his lips in a singular fashion. It is certain that if the archbishop, whose soul was as candid as that of a little child, was ignorant of all worldly matters, his colleague occasional received echoes thereof. The sporting papers had consecrated long obituaries to Madame Tafoireau, the popular owner, and the society papers had not failed to relate the theatrical successes of the late Mag Iris. There had even been, in Le Temps, a first-rate lightweight Claretie on that eminently Parisian subject; it had required no less than three columns for the eminent Academician to polish off a funeral oration.78
The notary replied: “No, Monseigneur, no. Madame Céleste Tafoireau’s daughter did not exactly enter a convent. She was an artiste. She possessed a very good voice.”
“I see, I see,” said Monseigneur Bénin-Despalmes. “The person sang in a spiritual choir. In my last voyage to Paris I heard a beautiful one at the Schola Cantorum…”
Again, Abbé Douillet pulled a face. He had heard mention of Scalas that were not Scalas Cantorum.79
“My God, Monseigneur,” remarked the notary, “I dare not affirm to you that the concerts in which Madame Tafoireau sang were entirely spiritual...but as my time is limited, I ought to hasten to explain the veritable object of my mission. You are, Monseigneur, the sole relative close enough to the deceased, whose notary I am, to qualify for the succession. As no testament was found, you must be considered as her heir, all reservations made in the case of possible subsequent claims, such as those, for instance, that might arise on the part of a recognized natural child.”
“And did this poor Madame Tafoireau leave considerable wealth?” asked the excellent prelate, who was thinking, as always, of his poor and his good works.
“I have almost clarified the situation, which might have appeared somewhat confused. Madame Tafoireau did not leave any movable property, and the town house she owned in Paris is mortgaged for two-thirds of its value. The best thing would be to sell it at auction. The surplus of the sale price, as well as the liquidation of jewels, furniture and works of art, will serve to pay off her creditors. She had, in fact…omitted to regulate certain small debts. But one part of the succession remains intact and intangible. I am referring to her racing stable.”
“Her racing stable?” said the archbishop, profoundly surprised.
“Yes, Monseigneur, her racing stable, which, since the beginning of the season, had brought in two hundred and sixty thousand francs... You’ll excuse me, Monseigneur, but I need to catch the train. I shall always be at Your Highness’ disposition to give him, in my study, all the complementary information. In addition, Monsieur Griffith, senior, Madame Tafoireau’s trainer, has come to see me several times and has told me of his intention to solicit an audience here. Will you please, Monseigneur, communicate your decision on the subject of the inheritance to me... Monseigneur…Monsieur l’Abbé…”
Abbé Douillet escorted Maître Dessumeaux back to the door of the archepiscopal palace. Having arrived there, he could not resist the temptation to say what he thought.
“Forgive me Monsieur, for mingling with affairs that are none of my concern, but I’ve heard talk of Madame Tafoireau, and the fashion in which she amassed the fortune of which His Highness now finds himself the inheritor. I wonder whether the acceptance of wealth coming from that source might be badly interpreted, and whether it is appropriate to ecclesiastical dignity...”
“Monsieur l’Abbé,” the notary interrupted, smilin
g. “I believe that the Lord accepted the jar of perfume of a sinner named Magdalen. You certainly recall the words that the Gospel reports to us on that subject.”80
III. A Case of Conscience
The curate, on returning to Monseigneur Bénin-Despalmes, found the latter extremely preoccupied.
“A racing stable! The circumstance is very embarrassing. I am recalling the sacred texts and the Church Fathers in vain; I can find nothing applicable to the particular case.”
“Your Highness might summon Abbé Tacot, the professor of exegesis at the Grand Séminaire. Abbé Tacot possesses a remarkable erudition in matters of ecclesiastical history. He is, in addition, one of our foremost dialecticians.”
As the archbishop was issuing instructions to that effect, a visiting card was brought in.
Baron Isaac de l’Échelle-Jacob, was written thereon, has the honor of soliciting a brief audience with Monseigneur Bénin-Despalmes, on an urgent matter.
Please send the gentleman in,” said the prelate, evidently impressed by those Biblical names.
In spite of the phenomenal aplomb that he dissimulated beneath his rather obsequious mannerisms, the Baron was really ill at ease. He was not in the habit of frequenting bishoprics, but he never recoiled when it was a matter of concluding a good business deal, and he would have presented himself at the Vatican to negotiate the purchase of Saint Peter’s keys if that purchase had offered him a sufficient profit margin. That is why, unsuspectingly, he had first sought out the head of the Freemasonic Lodge of Caudebec-en-Caux, had identified himself to him as a great dignitary of the Order, and, to the great amazement of the provincial, had said to him: “You have connections in Caudebec; give me a recommendation to the Archbishop.”
Not having been able to obtain the introduction—which had surprised him—Baron Isaac de l’Échelle-Jacob had presented himself, with his personal prestige alone, before Monseigneur Bénin-Despalmes.
He thought it appropriate, on finding himself face to face with the prelate, to neglect all oratory precaution and get straight to the point of his visit.
“Monsieur l’Archevèque,” he said, “are you disposed to sell Peau-de-Balle for a good price?”
There was a silence. Monseigneur Bénin-Despalmes smiled with affability ad incomprehension, and turned to his curate.
“Monsieur is doubtless a foreigner and does not speak our language very well. Perhaps it would be appropriate to summon Abbé Gugussheim, who is very well versed in foreign dialects and might be able to serve as an interpreter.”81
“No, no,” protested the Baron. “Perhaps I’m expressing myself badly, or rather, you’re not up to date. I’m talking about Peau-de-Balle. You don’t know? No? Well, Monsieur l’Archevèque, you have inherited from Madame Tafoireau, a very charming lady…Madame Tafoireau had racehorses. Among those horses, there is one named Peau-de-Balle. Peau-de-Balle is a funny name, eh? He’s a very good horse. Well, that’s the one I want to buy. I’ll pay you two hundred thousand francs.”
Monseigneur Bénin-Despalmes, and even Abbé Douillet, were amazed by the enormity of the sum. It surpassed their comprehension that a horse could be worth two hundred thousand francs, when Bijou, the bay that pulled the archbishop’s carriage, had only cost six hundred and fifty francs.
Baron Isaac, a past master in commercial psychology, understood the meaning and profundity of their emotion perfectly.
“I am in communication with Maître Dessumeaux, the notary occupied with the succession. You can ask his advice, and if you decide, he can transmit your response to me. Two hundred thousand francs, I say, Monsieur l’Archevèque; it’s silly, but when I desire a horse, I’m willing to pay its weight in gold. Au revoir, Monsieur l’Archevèque... I have the honor, Monsieur le Curé...”
As Baron Isaac was leaving the archbishopric, Abbé Tacot, the professor of exegesis at the Grand Séminaire, came into it.
Abbé Tacot was a well of knowledge in dogmatic matters. He was also a terrible man. His head was a veritable arsenal containing all the sacred texts, Papal decretals, decisions of Councils, the Summa of St. Thomas Aquinas—which, together with the work of Paul Bourget, constitutes the most mind-numbing load of rubbish that humans have produced in the course of the centuries—and a heap of other treasures of the same nature, drafted in French or kitchen Latin. Thus, in the most ordinary circumstances of life, whether it was a matter of making a judgment or witnessing a very simple fact, he would whip out an argument, a carefully whetted ecclesiastical law, take aim, fire, and strike you down with it mercilessly.
In every profession there are men like that. There are men like that in all the administrations, in the army, in the magistracy and even, alas, on the Turf. They are the implacable conservers of the rule-book, form and prejudice. They put spokes in every wheel, and in consequence, nothing proceeds as it ought to proceed.
Monseigneur Bénin-Despalmes had a holy terror of Abbé Tacot, who was a pitiless critic of his writs of mandamus, his allocutions and his slightest gestures. Abbé Tacot saw symptoms of heresy everywhere.
That is why it was indispensable to consult Abbé Tacot at this critical moment, when the Monseigneur found himself at the head of a racing stable.
The curate explained to the eminent exegete how the archbishop had come into an inheritance, and the nature of that heritage. He naturally passed over in the silence the pseudonym and profession of the deceased. However, Abbé Douillet did mention the visit of Baron Issac de l’Échelle-Jacob and his proposal of purchase concerning Peau-de-Balle. He even defined the individual in these terms:
“A person who had the name, exterior appearance and language of an Israelite...”
“Really, Monsieur l’Abbé,” remarked the worthy prelate, “Do you think so? I would never have thought it.”
Abbé Tacot frowned, and raised a dogmatic finger. “With regard to negotiations projected with an Israelite, there is no doubt. The case is specified in item VI of the fifth book of decretals: No one, whether a cleric or a layman, may negotiate with an infidel, under penalty of a grave sin, except in the case of necessity. Now, an Israelite must be considered, a fortiori, as an infidel. And the circumstance of necessity must be understood here in the strictest sense. Thus, Saint Bernard, in a letter that he wrote to Henry, Archbishop of Sens, who asked his advice on that doctrinal point, cites the case of a Christian knight lost in the Syrian desert in the epoch of the crusades. That knight, dying of hunger, encountered a Jew who sold him the aliments necessary to survive, and also wanted to sell him a horse in order to continue his journey. The holy doctor absolved the knight for having bought the food, since he would otherwise have died, and praised him highly for not having bought the horse, the necessity of which was not absolutely vital. Now, if the purchase of the horse, in the case of the knight, was not considered as a case of necessity, it is even less so for the sale of a racehorse to the Israelite that you call the Baron de l’Échelle-Jacob.”
“So,” said the archbishop, “it would be necessary for me to sell this fabulously valuable horse to another, Christian, individual…or have Baron Isaac baptized. But could I not keep and utilize the horse?”
“The sacred texts have not really foreseen anything in the matter of racehorses...”
Abbé Douillet uttered a sigh of relief.
“…But one can easily resolve the difficulties presented by that subject, by consulting that which has been resolved, on the matter of gambling, by the Holy Father, the Pontiffs and the Councils...”
Abbé Douillet uttered a sigh of resignation. They were not going to be able to cut the matter short this time.
“…In fact, according to the opinion of the world and the Church, racecourses constitute one of the forms, and doubtless the most reprehensible form, of gambling. Gambling has always been forbidden by the canons of the Church, whether it is a matter of games of pure chance, such as dice games, lansquenet, faro or snakes-and-ladders, or of a mixed game in which industry is combined with chance, such as pi
quet, trictrac, ombre, skittles and chess. The General Lateran Council held in November 1515, under Innocent III,82 did not even permit ecclesiastics to be present in companies where those sorts of games were played: Clerici vel aleas, vel taxilos non ludant nec hujusmodi intersint...”
There he goes—he’s off, thought Abbé Douillet, in despair.
“…and that prohibition is renewed in 1565 by Saint Charles Borromeo in his first provincial council: Nec solum ludere vetamus, sed cos ludorum spectatores esse nolumus, aut quemquam ludentum in oedibus suis permittere.”83
Monseigneur Bénin-Despalmes, anticipating that this was only the beginning of an avalanche of texts, assumed what is known in the theater as “a comfortable position” in order to listen—which is to say that he leaned back in his chair and quietly closed his eyes.
Abbé Tacot resumed forcefully. “In a particular fashion, the blessed cardinal Peter Damian is the person who fulminated must against chess, which he called a indecent, absurd and infamous game: Quam inhonestum, quam absurdum, quam denique soedum sit hoc in sacerdote ludibrium. And he goes so far as to call it a sacrilegious game, in speaking about the severe reprimand that he had made to the Bishop of Florence, with whom he was traveling, and on whom he imposed a penance of reciting the psalter three times, washing the feet of a dozen paupers and giving each of them a coin, for having played it after supper.84
“And if the game of chess is condemned in such a peremptory fashion, how much more disastrous out one to consider the gambling that takes place on racecourses, the scandal being public and happening, so to speak, in the face of heaven!”
A diversion occurred, which fortunately interrupted, to the great relief of the prelate and the curate, the savant casuist’s flow of eloquence. It was the entry of a lackey who announced the presence in the antechamber of T. Griffith senior.
The Mirror of Present Events Page 18
