The Works of Honore de Balzac - LightNovelsOnl.com
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_Te Deum laudamus!_ cried the many voices.
"Go to the devil, brute beasts that you are! _Dios!_ _Dios!_ _Garajos demonios!_ Idiots! What fools you are with your dotard G.o.d!" and a torrent of imprecations poured forth like a stream of red-hot lava from the mouth of Vesuvius.
"_Deus Sabaoth!... Sabaoth!_" cried the believers.
"You are insulting the majesty of h.e.l.l," shouted Don Juan, gnas.h.i.+ng his teeth. In another moment the living arm struggled out of the reliquary, and was brandished over the a.s.sembly in mockery and despair.
"The saint is blessing us," cried the old women, children, lovers, and the credulous among the crowd.
And note how often we are deceived in the homage we pay; the great man scoffs at those who praise him, and pays compliments now and again to those whom he laughs at in the depths of his heart.
Just as the Abbot, prostrate before the altar, was chanting "_Sancte Johannes, ora pro n.o.bis!_" he heard a voice exclaim sufficiently distinctly: "_O coglione!_"
"What can be going on up there?" cried the Sub-prior, as he saw the reliquary move.
"The saint is playing the devil," replied the Abbot.
Even as he spoke the living head tore itself away from the lifeless body, and dropped upon the sallow cranium of the officiating priest.
"Remember Dona Elvira!" cried the thing, with its teeth set fast in the Abbot's head.
The Abbot's horror-stricken shriek disturbed the ceremony; all the ecclesiastics hurried up and crowded about their chief.
"Idiot, tell us now if there is a G.o.d!" the voice cried, as the Abbot, bitten through the brain, drew his last breath.
PARIS, _October 1830_.
