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Updated: June 7, 2025
"The people are cheering the election returns in front of the city hall," said Carhaix disdainfully. They looked at each other. "The people of today!" exclaimed Des Hermies. "Ah," grumbled Gévingey, "they wouldn't acclaim a sage, an artist, that way, even if such were conceivable now a saint." "And they did in the Middle Ages." "Well, they were more naïf and not so stupid then," said Des Hermies.
Then while Carhaix was pouring the cognac, Des Hermies said in a low voice, "I did not want to speak before her, because these matters distress and frighten her, but I received a singular visit this morning from Gévingey, who is running over to Lyons to see Dr. Johannès. He claims to have been bewitched by Canon Docre, who, it seems, is making a flying visit to Paris.
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.
"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.
"Oh, well," said Des Hermies, knowing better than to insist. "Look at this," and took him into the kitchen and showed him a superb leg of mutton hanging beside the window. "I hung it up in a draft so as to get some of the crass freshness out of it. We'll eat it when we have the astrologer Gévingey to dine with us at Carhaix's. As I am the only person alive who knows how to boil a gigot
"I have finished the first part of his life, making just the briefest possible mention of his virtues and achievements." "Which are of no interest," remarked Des Hermies. "Evidently, since the name of Gilles de Rais would have perished four centuries ago but for the enormities of vice which it symbolizes. I am coming to the crimes now.
"Are you doing anything this evening?" "No. Why?" "Shall we dine together?" "Certainly." And while Durtal was putting on his shoes, Des Hermies remarked, "To me the striking thing about the so-called literary world of this epoch is its cheap hypocrisy. What a lot of laziness, for instance, that word dilettante has served to cover." "Yes, it's a great old alibi.
The diners were silent now, their noses in their plates, their faces brightened by steam from the savoury soup, soup, two selected dishes, a salad, and a dessert. "Now is the time to repeat the chestnut dear to Flaubert, 'You can't dine like this in a restaurant," said Durtal. "Let's not malign the restaurants," said Des Hermies.
"You know very well, messieurs," addressing Des Hermies and Durtal, "what the books teach, but within a hundred years everything has changed, and if the facts I am are unknown to the many members of the clergy, and you will not find them cited in any book whatever. "At present it is less frequently demons than bodies raised from the dead which fill the indispensable rôle of incubus and succubus.
It was perfectly natural that Durtal, surfeited with skin-deep friendships, should feel drawn to Des Hermies, but it was difficult to imagine why Des Hermies, with his taste for strange associations, should take a liking to Durtal, who was the soberest, steadiest, most normal of men. Perhaps Des Hermies felt the need of talking with a sane human being now and then as a relief.
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