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Updated: June 27, 2025
Have you been ordained?" "He is a priest," I said, "a doctor of divinity and a professor of eloquence." "Of which diocese?" queried the vicar. "Of Seez in Normandy, a suffragan of Rouen." "An important ecclesiastical province," said the vicar, "but less important by antiquity and fame than the diocese of Reims, of which I am a priest." And he went away. M. Jerome Coignard passed the day easily.
They struggled passionately for some small silver pieces M. d'Anquetil threw among them, fell to the ground, and rolled in the dust. "It's painful to look on these people," said Jahel with a sigh. "'That pity," said M. Coignard, "suits you like a jewel, Mademoiselle Jahel; your sighs ornament your bosom heaving under them like a breath each of us would like to respire from your lips.
Since yesterday we came near your coach, which we saw break down just now in a rut. At that very moment Mosaide alighted from the carriage, and it may be that he wanted to take a walk, or perhaps he made himself invisible, as he can do. I have not seen him again. It is possible that he has already found his niece to curse her; such is the intention. But he has not killed M. Coignard.
"The Abbe Coignard," said M. d'Asterac, "is an admirable translator of Greek. But you must not want anything from him beyond his books. He has no philosophy. As far as you are in question, my son, you reason with the infirmity of ignorance, and the weakness of your arguments afflicts me. You say, those unions are against nature. What do you know about it?
These are nothing but glass beads, good only for children to play with, or to be used in the crown of a village Holy Virgin, where they would have a charming effect." Having listened to that reply, M. Coignard picked up his diamonds and turned his back on the jeweller. In so doing he became aware of my presence, and looked rather confused over it.
"That could be done," said M. Jerome Coignard, "as far as we are concerned, but how are we to hide all those empty bottles, mostly smashed, or at least broken necked; the remains of that demijohn M. d'Anquetil threw at me; that tablecloth; those plates, candelabra and mademoiselle's chemise, which in its soaked state is nothing but a transparent veil encircling her beauty?"
M. Coignard seemed not to hear what I said, and continued his speech: "My snuff-box has unfortunately opened itself in my pocket during the fight at Catherine's house, and the tobacco it contained, mixed with the wine of the broken bottle, has formed a quite disgusting paste.
"Thank God," answered M. Coignard, "there is nothing new in my soul, for, as said Saint Chrysostom, beware of new things. Don't walk in untrodden ways, one wanders without end when one commences to wander. I have had that sad experience, and lost myself for having followed untrodden roads. I have listened to my own counsels, and they have conducted me to the abyss.
It was not an ordinary post-chaise, but a very large, clumsy vehicle, having room to seat four, and a small coupe in front. I looked at it for a minute or two, when up the hill came M. d'Anquetil, with Jahel, carrying several parcels under her cloak and wearing a mob-cap. M. Coignard followed them, loaded with five or six books wrapped up in an old thesis.
M. Jerome Coignard was commonly of an exemplary forbearance, and he used to say that he owed his gentleness to the vicissitudes of life; chance having treated him as the sea treats the pebbles that is, polishing them by means of the rolling of flood and ebb. He could easily stand insults, as much by Christian spirit as by philosophy.
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