The Queen Pedauque Part 9

"The Masorah has not confided to thee her secrets and the Mischna has not revealed to thee her mysteries."

"Mosade," continued M. d'Asterac, "not only interprets the books of Moses but also that of Enoch, which is much more important, and which has been rejected by the Christians, who were unable to understand it; like the c.o.c.k of the Arabian fable, who disdained the pearl fallen in his grain. That book of Enoch, M. Abbe Coignard, is the more precious because therein are to be seen the first talks the daughters of man had with the Sylphs. You must understand that those angels which as Enoch shows us had love connection with women were Sylphs and Salamanders."

"I will so understand, sir," replied my good master, "not wis.h.i.+ng to gainsay you. But from what has been conserved of the book of Enoch, which is clearly apocryphal, I suspect those angels to have been not Sylphs but simply Phoenician merchants."

"And on what do you found," asked M. d'Asterac, "so singular an opinion?"

"I found it, sir, on what is said in that very book that the angels taught the women how to use bracelets and necklaces, to paint the eyebrows and to employ all sorts of dyes. It is further said in the same book, that the angels taught the daughters of men the peculiar qualities of roots and trees, enchantments, and the art of observing the stars.

Truly, sir, have not those angels the appearance of Syrians or Sidonians gone ash.o.r.e on some half-deserted coast and unpacking in the shadow of rocks their trumpery wares to tempt the girls of the savage tribes?

These traffickers gave them copper necklaces, armlets and medicines in exchange for amber, frankincense and furs. And they astonished these beautiful but ignorant creatures by speaking to them of the stars with a knowledge acquired by seafaring. That's clear, I think, and I should like to know in what M. Mosade could contradict me."

Mosade kept mute and M. d'Asterac, smiling again, said:

"M. Coignard, you do not reason so badly, ignorant as you still are of gnosticism and the Cabala. And what you say makes me think that there may have been some metallurgistic and gold-working Gnomes among the Sylphs who joined themselves in love with the daughters of men. The Gnomes, and that is a fact, occupied themselves willingly with the goldsmith's art, and it is probable that those ingenious demons forged the bracelets you believe to have been of Phoenician manufacture.

"But I warn you, you'll be at some disadvantage, sir, to compete with Mosade in the knowledge of human antiquities. He has rediscovered monuments which were believed to have been lost; among others, the column of Seth and the oracles of Sambethe the daughter of Noah and the most ancient of the sybils."

"Oh!" exclaimed my tutor as he stamped on the powdery floor so that a cloud of dust whirled up. "Oh! what dreams! It is too much, you make fun of me! And M. Mosade cannot have so much foolery in his head, under his large bonnet, resembling the crown of Charlemagne; that column of Seth is a ridiculous invention of that shallow Flavius Josephus, an absurd story by which n.o.body has been imposed upon before you. And the predictions of Sambethe, Noah's daughter, I am really curious to know them; and M. Mosade, who seems to be pretty sparing of his words, would oblige by uttering a few by words of mouth, because it is not possible for him, I am quite pleased to recognise it, to p.r.o.nounce them by the more secret voice in which the ancient sybils habitually gave their mysterious responses."

Mosade, who seemed to hear nothing, said suddenly:

"Noah's daughter has spoken; Sambethe has said: 'The vain man who laughs and mocks will not hear the voice which goes forth from the seventh tabernacle, the infidel walketh miserably to his ruin.'"

After this oracular p.r.o.nouncement all three of us took leave of Mosade.

CHAPTER XII

I take a Walk and visit Mademoiselle Catherine

In that year the summer was radiant, and I had a longing to go walking.

One day, strolling under the trees of the Cours-la-Reine with two little crowns I had found that very morning in the pocket of my breeches, and which were the first by which my goldmaker had shown his munificence, I sat down at the door of a small coffee-house, at a table so small that it was quite appropriate to my solitude and modesty. Then I began to think of the oddness of my destiny, while at my side some musketeers were drinking Spanish wine with girls of the town. I was not quite sure that Croix-des-Sablons, M. d'Asterac, Mosade, the papyrus of Zosimus and my fine clothes were not dreams, out of which I should wake to find myself clad in the dimity vest, back again turning the spit at the _Queen Pedauque_.

I came out of my reverie on feeling my sleeve pulled, and saw standing before me Friar Ange, his face nearly hidden by his beard and cowl.

"Monsieur Jacques Menetrier," he said in a very low voice, "a lady, who wishes you well, expects you in her carriage on the highway, between the river and the Porte de la Conference."

My heart began to beat violently. Afraid and charmed by this adventure, I went at once to the place indicated by the Capuchin, but at a quiet pace, which seemed to me to be more becoming. Arrived at the embankment I saw a carriage and a tiny hand on the door.

This door was opened at my coming, and very much surprised I was to find inside the coach Mam'selle Catherine, dressed in pink satin, her head covered with a hood of black lace, underneath which her fair hair seemed to sport.

Confused I remained standing on the step.

"Come in," she said, "and sit down near me. Shut the door if you please; you must not be seen. Just now in pa.s.sing on the Cours I saw you sitting at the cafe. Immediately I had you fetched by the good friar, whom I had attached to me for the Lenten exercises, and whom I have kept since, because, in whatever position one may be, it is necessary to have piety.

You looked very well, M. Jacques, sitting before your little table, your sword across your thighs and with the sad look of a man of quality. I have always been friendly disposed towards you and I am not of that kind of women who in their prosperity disregard their former friends."

"Eh! What? Mam'selle Catherine," I exclaimed, "this coach, these lackeys, this satin dress----"

"They are the outcome," she replied, "of the kindness of M. de la Gueritude, who is of the best set and one of the richest financiers. He has lent money to the king. He is an excellent friend whom, for all the world, I should not wish to offend. But he is not as amiable as you, M.

Jacques. He has also given me a little house at Grenelle, which I will show you from the cellar to the garret. M. Jacques, I am mighty glad to see you on the road to fortune. Real merit is always discovered. You'll see my bedroom, which is copied from that of Mademoiselle Davilliers. It is covered all over with looking-gla.s.s and there are lots of grotesque figures. How is the old fellow your father? Between ourselves, he somewhat neglects his wife and his cook-shop. It is very wrong of a man in his position. But let us speak of yourself."

"Let us speak of you, Mam'selle Catherine," said I. "You are so very pretty and it is a great pity you love the Capuchin." Nothing could be said against a government contractor.

"Oh!" she said, "do not reproach me with Friar Ange. I have him for my salvation only and if I would give a rival to M. de la Gueritude it would be----"

"Would be?"

"Don't ask me, M. Jacques; you're an ungrateful man, for you know that I always singled you out, but you do not care about me."

"Quite the contrary, Mam'selle Catherine. I smarted under your mockery.

You sneered at my beardless chin. Many a time you have told me that I am but a ninny."

"And that was true, M. Jacques, truer than you believed it to be. Why could you not see that I had a liking for you?"

"Why, Catherine, you are so pretty as to make one fear. I did not dare to look at you. And one day I clearly Law that you were thoroughly offended with me."

"I had every reason for it, M. Jacques; you took that Savoyard in preference to me, that sc.u.m of the Port Saint Nicolas."

"Ah! be quite sure, Catherine, that I did not do so by wish or inclination, but only because she found ways and means energetic enough to vanquish my timidity."

"Oh! my friend, you may believe me, as I am the elder of us two, timidity is a great sin against love. But did you not see that that beggar had holes in her stockings and a seam of filth and mud, half-an-ell high, on the bottom of her petticoat?"

"I saw it, Catherine."

"Have you not seen, Jacques, how badly she is made and that really she is skinny?"

"I saw it, Catherine."

"And withal you loved that Savoyard she-monkey, you who have a white skin and distinguished manners!"

"I cannot understand it myself, Catherine. It must have been that at that moment my imagination was full of you. And it was your image only gave me the pluck and strength you reproach me with to-day. Imagine yourself, Catherine, my rapture to press you in my arms, yourself or only a girl who resembled you a little. Because I loved you desperately."

She took my hand and sighed, and in a tone of sadness I continued to say:

"Yes, I did love you, Catherine, and I could still love you except for that disgusting monk."

She cried out:

"What a suspicion! You offend me. It is a folly."

"Then you do not love the Capuchin?"

"Fie!"

As I did not consider it to be any use to press the subject further, I took her round the waist, we embraced, our lips met and all my being seemed to melt in voluptuousness.