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Page 18
There was one way out of her troubles,--that to which Alphonse Daudet's
and Andr� Theuriet's people gravitate as needles to their pole. She
walked one dark midnight upon the jetty alone. Nobody saw the end; but
the next Sunday, three weeks to a day from the one when the two had
countermarched in matrimonial procession, Mademoiselle Clothilde was
laid in her grave.
The whole French social system revolves around the _dot_.
"How dare you speak to my father so!" I once heard a daughter reproach
her mother. "How dare you, who brought him no _dot_!"
"It is a pity Madame Marais has no more influence in her family," I
heard remarked in a social company. "It is a pity, for she is a good
woman, and her husband and sons are all going to the bad."
"Yes, it is a pity," answered another; "but, then, what else can she
expect? She brought no _dot_ into the family."
Once upon a time a young man made a friendly call upon a family in our
ville, he a distant relative of the family. He sat in the _salon_
with mother and daughter, when suddenly the mother was called away a
moment. When she returned, not more than two minutes later,--horror!
_she could not enter the room!_ In closing the door she had somehow
disarranged the handles; screws had dropped out and could not be found;
the knob would not turn. What a situation! A young girl shut up in a
locked room with a young man! What a scandal if the story got out in the
town! and what could the poor, distracted mamma do to release her
daughter from that damning situation without the knowledge of the
servants? She dared not even summon a locksmith, for locksmith tongues
are free; and who would not shoot out the lip at poor Jeanne, hearing
the miserable story at breakfast-tables to-morrow?
"You must marry Jeanne, _mon cousin_," cried mamma through the
keyhole.
"Impossible, _ma cousine_. You know I am _fianc�_," laughed
he.
Nevertheless he did!
For when papa heard that Jeanne had remained two whole hours shut up
with Cousin Pierre in a brilliantly-lighted _salon_, with a frantic
mother at the keyhole and all the servants grinning upon their knees
searching for the missing screws, he added twenty thousand francs to her
_dot_ on the spot, and Pierre wrote to his other _fianc�e_ that he had
"changed his intentions."
"Mamma's _tapage_ was too funny," laughed Madame Pierre, telling me
this story herself. "Pierre and I laughed well on our side of the door,
although we were careful not to let maman hear us. For we had often been
alone together before when _nobody knew it_."
Which makes all the difference in the world in our ville, as well as
elsewhere.
Pierre's funny experience did not end with his betrothal. In relating
the adventure which follows, I wish it distinctly to be understood that
I do it in all respect, admiration, and reverence for the Church which
is the mother of all Churches calling themselves Christian. The Holy
Roman Catholic Church is no less holy that her servants are so often
base and vile and that her livery is so often stolen to serve evil in.
What wickedness and hypocrisy have we not in our own Protestant clergy,
and without even the tremendous excuse for it which the conditions of
European society give for the occasional levity of its priesthood! In
France the Church is a recognized profession, to which parents destine
and for which they educate their sons without waiting for them to
exhibit any special bias toward a religious life. In spite of
themselves, many young men are even forced into the priesthood, not only
by strong family influence, but through having been educated so as to be
absolutely unfitted for any other walk of life. With us the priesthood
is a matter of deliberate and perfectly voluntary choice, and he who
wears it as a cloak is ten thousand times the hypocrite his Catholic
brother is.
It happened that our _cur�_ of Saint-�tienne was a jolly good
fellow, somewhat given to wine-bibbing, and much given to Rabelaisian
stories. He was also hail-fellow-well-met with Pierre, and Pierre, like
most of the young men of France, prided himself upon his entire freedom
from the "superstitious." P�re Duhaut lived by teaching and preaching.
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