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Updated: June 28, 2025
Not a word of this to Carhaix, because he would be quite capable of closing his door in your face if he knew you had been present at an office in honour of Satan." They went downstairs from Durtal's apartment and walked along toward the tower of Saint Sulpice. "I didn't bring anything to eat, because you said you would look after that," said Durtal, "but this morning I sent Mme.
Carhaix, sprawling in an armchair, was reading his breviary. "What's going on in the world?" he asked, closing his book. "Nothing. Politics doesn't interest us, and General Boulanger's American tricks of publicity weary you as much as they do us, I suppose. The other newspaper stories are just a little more shocking or dull than usual.
Carhaix, when he returned, as if enveloped in a fog of sounds, exclaimed, "A while ago, Des Hermies, you were speaking of the Franciscans. Do you know that that order, to live up to its professions of poverty, was supposed not to possess even a bell? True, this rule has been relaxed somewhat. It was too severe! Now they have a bell, but only one." "Just like most other abbeys, then."
"Perfectly." "You amaze me. But, man! do you know that to witness such things would aid me signally in my work? No joking, you believe in a contemporary Satanistic manifestation? You have proofs?" "Yes, and of them we shall speak later, for today I am very busy. Tomorrow evening, when we dine with Carhaix. Don't forget. I'll come by for you.
"Well," murmured Carhaix, whose militant moustache bristled while his great eyes flamed, "if that abominable priest were here, I swear to you that I would respect his feet, but that I would throw him downstairs head first." "And the black mass?" inquired Des Hermies. "He celebrates it with foul men and women.
"And there are many other cases," said Carhaix. "Of their own accord the bells chimed when Saint Sigisbert chanted the De Profundis over the corpse of the martyr Placidus, and when the body of Saint Ennemond, Bishop of Lyons, was thrown by his murderers into a boat without oars or sails, the bells rang out, though nobody set them in motion, as the boat passed down the Saône."
"Mighty appetizing," said Durtal, inhaling the odour of a peppery pot-au-feu, perfumed with a symphony of vegetables, of which the keynote was celery. "Everybody sit down," said Carhaix, reappearing with a clean blouse on, his face shining of soap and water. They sat down. The glowing stove purred.
"Then," Carhaix observed, "our friend forgets that there are impeccable monastic orders, the Carthusians, for instance." "Yes, and the Trappists and the Franciscans. But they are cloistered orders which live in shelter from an infamous century. Take, on the other hand, the order of Saint Dominic, which exists for the fashionable world.
My good friend, you are the man forever unintelligible to the coming generations. To ring bells because you love them, to give yourself over to the abandoned study of feudal art or monasticism would make you complete take you clear out of Paris, out of the world, back into the Middle Ages." "Alas," said Carhaix, "I am only a poor ignorant man. But the type you speak of does exist.
Carhaix entered, covered with snow. "Cristi, boys, it blows!" He shook himself, threw his heavy outer garments on a chair, and extinguished his lantern. "There were blinding clouds of snow whirling in between the sounding-shutters. I can hardly see. Dog's weather. The lady has gone to bed? Good. But you haven't drunk your coffee?" he asked as he saw Durtal filling the glasses.
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