The Bohemians

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Morning Matins at the Charterhouse

c h a p t e r f i f t e e n Morning Matins at the Charterhouse The charterhouse bells had already tintinnabulated more than once, and every little altar had been honored by a sacrificial victim. Time for breakfast : fresh rolls, cylinders of butter, and half-bottles of wine awakened the appetites of the peace-loving hermits in various quarters of the house. Crossing the courtyard to his own rooms, Dom Prior met the Coadjutor who approached him with a half-modest, half-cavalier air, well-polished boots, a whip in one hand, and his robe hiked gallantly up on the other side. Getting ready for any journey, a monk puts on his hat, struts, looks in the mirror, and practices his formal manners; does he want to look laughable in society’s eyes by presenting himself as an awkward soldier of the Cross? No—he is not such a fool. Watch any Minim, simple Franciscan though he may be, walk down the street. Ahem! He lifts his hem gracefully, draping the cloth at an angle to reveal silk knee-breeches, brilliantly white stockings, and diamond buckles, with a watch-chain as long as the one any attorney’s clerk sews to his breeches. See how he carries his head, and his benedictory greeting. Aha! father, father! But Margot may still turn up her nose at your patron saint, poor Francis of Paola, even if she admires your dashing figure. The Coadjutor had a twinkle in his eyes. Noticing this, his colonel wished him a very good morning in a way that hinted: “Come on, make me laugh too, friend Coadjutor! I’m ready for a laugh: what’s going on? An adventure with a girl?” For when a monk is laughing, there’s a girl either in his sight or in his heart. “The funniest traveling camp in the world! Two passable women, a frisky Morning Matins at the Charterhouse 103 donkey, and men who preach away like sermonizers in Lent. Dom Hachette thought they must be Capuchins, and they do smell rather like; I thought them Bohemians; but they call themselves philosophers. One of them would like to pronounce a panegyric to the clergy in your presence . . .” “Delighted to hear it,” replied the Prior. “And I’ll convoke our monks in the small chapter-house, because today is our day of recreation. This spectacle may offer some diversion, since solitude has been affecting their minds of late.” “No fear! We have at present the lowest level of insanity on record in this cloister; we count at most five interned madmen out of the thirty, and the new arrival makes only six.” “Agreed,” replied the Prior. “First dinner, and then the sermon.” And he continued his promenade. The Coadjutor transmitted the order, and Lungiet prepared himself to appear before this venerable audience. In the meantime, while the Prior’s message was being transmitted to Dom Vicar in the cloister, Dom Jean, a friend of mine who happened to be in Dom Vicar’s cell at the time, heard it too. Dom Jean rushed to share the news with his colleague Dom Xavier: “A contingent from the Academy is lodging right here in the cloister, and assembling after dinner in the little chapter-house to read their work to the community! These are the premier philosophers of Europe.” “Fine news,” said Dom Xavier, “I will plaster their faces and model them in wax, to add to my bust and medallion collections.” Dom Xavier’s comment was heard by Dom Michel, who immediately dropped the reed he was cutting for an embouchure and ran to tell the news to Dom Vincent, who was stringing the beads of a chaplet. Thus did Rumor in cowl and scapular ring out from cell to cell: news of the arrival of the philosophical apostles rushed throughout the cloister within fifteen minutes. Never had the sons of Saint Bruno observed silence so poorly. They all chattered together on the way to the refectory: “What d’you know about all these philosophers? Surely from the French Academy.” “Not at all! a detachment of the Academy of Sciences.” “Must be from the Academy of Letters, here to examine our charters.” “But I tell you they are from the museum in the rue Dauphine.” “They have a donkey,” remarked the older monks. “And women,” said the younger monks. 104 chapter fifteen This scandalous rumor...