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Updated: June 28, 2025
Durtal, looking around this cozy dining-room and recalling the extraordinary conversations which had been held here, was thinking, "How far we are from the language and the ideas of modern times. All that takes us back to the Middle Ages," he said, finishing his thought aloud. "Happily!" exclaimed Carhaix, who was rising to go and ring his bells.
"Now, Des Hermies," said Carhaix, "you are going too far. I claim to know the clerical world myself, and there are, even in Paris, honest men who do their duty. They are covered with opprobrium and spat on. Every Tom, Dick, and Harry accuses them of the foulest vices.
And Rome is not unaware of the frightful advance incubacy has made in the cloisters in our days." "That proves that continence is hard to bear in solitude," said Des Hermies. "It merely proves that the soul is feeble and that people have forgotten how to pray," said Carhaix.
Most of them have the shuffling gait and sheepish air of an old gardener." "Carhaix will be all right for a few more years," said Des Hermies, as if to himself, "and then let us mercifully wish him a speedy death. The Church, which has begun by sanctioning the introduction of gas into the chapels, will end by installing mechanical chimes instead of bells. That will be charming.
"I am always afraid that Louis will take cold in his chest this kind of weather. Oh, well, Monsieur des Hermies, here is the coffee. I appoint you to the task of serving it. At this hour of day my poor old limbs won't hold me up any longer. I must go lie down." "The fact is," sighed Des Hermies, when they had wished her good night, "the fact is that mama Carhaix is rapidly getting old.
"Then," rejoined Des Hermies, putting on his hat, "an author who boasts of being a dilettante, confesses by that very thing that he is no author?" "Exactly." Toward the end of the afternoon Durtal quit work and went up to the towers of Saint Sulpice. He found Carhaix in bed in a chamber connecting with the one in which they were in the habit of dining.
Today bells spoke an obsolete language, incomprehensible to man. Carhaix was under no misapprehension. Living in an aërial tomb outside the human scramble, he was faithful to his art, and in consequence no longer had any reason for existing. He vegetated, superfluous and demoded, in a society which insisted that for its amusement the holy place be turned into a concert hall.
See how they are ravaged by Satanism, then tell me if the Church can fall any lower." "The promises are explicit and cannot fail," and with his elbows on the table, his chin in his hands, and his eyes to heaven, the bell-ringer murmured, "Our father thy kingdom come!" "It's getting late," said Des Hermies, "time we were going." While they were putting on their coats, Carhaix questioned Durtal.
"Do you know what I think?" asked Des Hermies, looking at Carhaix. "I think you ought to prepare a compendium of hagiography or a really informative work on heraldry." "What makes you think that?" "Well, you are, thank God, remote from this epoch and fond of things which it knows nothing about or execrates, and a work of that kind would take you still further away.
And the hermit answered: Hardly, my lord; yet his last keep of Carhaix holds out still, for the walls are strong, and strong is the heart of the Dukes son Kaherdin, a very good knight and bold; but the enemy surrounds them on every side and starves them. Very hardly do they hold their castle. Then Tristan asked: How far is this keep of Carhaix?
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