Luxury - Gluttony: Two of the Seven Cardinal Sins

"And who doubts it? You can find that celestial type among the anchorites."

"Admirable types, indeed, abbé! Now, according to your ideas of making proselytes, you ought to desire most earnestly that all mankind should approach this type of ideal perfection as nearly as possible, — a man inhabiting a cave and living on roots. The beautiful ideal of your religious society would then be a society of cave-dwellers and root-eaters, administering rough discipline by way of pastime."

"Would to God it might be so!" sternly answered the abbé; "there would be then as many righteous on the earth as there are men."

"In the first place that would deplete the census considerably, my dear abbé, and afterward there would be the little inconvenience of destroying with one blow all the various industries, the specimens of which we have just been admiring. Without taking into account the industry of weavers who make our cloth, silversmiths who emboss silver plate, fabricators of porcelain and glass, painters, gilders, who embellish our houses, upholsterers, etc., that is to say, society, in approaching your ideal, would annihilate three-fourths of the most flourishing industries, and, in other words, would return to a savage state."

"Better work out your salvation in a savage state," persisted the opinionated Abbé Ledoux, "than deserve eternal agony by abandoning yourself to the pleasures of a corrupt civilisation."

"What sublime disinterestedness! But then, why leave so generously these renunciations to others, these bitter, cruel privations, abandoning to them your part of paradise, and modestly contenting yourself with easy living here below, sleeping on eider-down, refreshing yourself with cool drinks, and comforting your stomach with warm food? Come, let us talk seriously, and confess that this is a veritable outrage, a veritable blasphemy against the munificence of creation, not to enjoy the thousand good things which she provides for the satisfaction of the creature."

"Pagans, materialists, philosophers!" exclaimed Abbé Ledoux, "who are not able to admit what, in their infernal pride, they are not able to comprehend!"

"Yes, credo quia absurdum. This axiom is as old as the world, my dear abbé, but it does not prevent the world's progress to the overthrow of your theories of privation and renunciation. Thank God, the world continually seeks welfare! Believe me, it is not necessary to reduce mankind to feeding on roots and drinking water; on the contrary, we ought to work to the end that the largest possible number may live, at least, upon good meats, good poultry, good fruit, good bread, and pure wine. Nature, in her infinite wisdom, has made man insatiable in demands for his body, and in the aspirations of his intelligence, and, if we think only of the wonderful things which man has made to gratify his five senses, for which nature has provided so bountifully, we are struck with admiration. We are then but obeying natural laws to labour with enthusiasm for the comfort and well-being of others, by the consumption and use of these provisions, and, as I told the canon, to do, each in his own sphere, as much as possible; in short, to enjoy without remorse, because — But the clock strikes six; come with me, my lord canon, and write the letter which is to bring your charming niece here. I will take a last look at my laboratory, where two of my best pupils have undertaken duties which I have entrusted to them. The dear abbé will await me in the parlour, for I intend to complete my programme and prove to him, by economic facts, not only the excellence of gluttony, but also of the other passions he calls the deadly sins."

"Very well, we will see how far you will push your sacrilegious paradoxes," said Abbé Ledoux, imperturbably. "Besides, all monstrosities are interesting to observe, but, doctor — doctor — three centuries ago, what a magnificient auto da fé they would have made of you!"

"A bad roast, my dear abbé! It would not be worth much more than the result of that hunt that you made in the glorious time of your fanaticism against the Protestants in the mountains of Cévennes. Bad game, abbé. Well, I shall be back soon, my dear guests," said the doctor, taking his departure.

The canon having written to the mother superior of the convent, a man in the confidence of Doctor Gasterini departed in a carriage to fetch Senora Dolores Salcedo, and at the same time to inform Captain Horace and his faithful Sans-Plume that they could come out of their hiding-place.

A half-hour after the departure of this emissary, the canon, the abbé, as well as the nieces and nephews of Doctor Gasterini, and several other guests, met in the doctor's parlour.

CHAPTER XV

Dolores and Horace soon arrived, within a short interval of each other, at the house of Doctor Gasterini. We leave the reader to imagine the joy of the two lovers and the expression of their tender gratitude to the doctor and the canon. The profound pity of the canon, the consciousness of assuring the happiness of his niece, were manifested by a hunger as rapacious as that of a tiger, as he whispered, with a doleful voice, in the doctor's ear:

"Alas, alas! will your other guests never come, doctor? Some people have such frightful egotism!"

"My guests will not delay much longer, my dear canon; it is half-past six, and at seven o'clock every one knows that I go to the table relentlessly."

In fact the invited guests of the doctor were not long in assembling, and a valet announced successively the following names:

"The Duke and Duchess of Senneterre-Maillefort!"

"Pride," whispered the doctor to the canon and abbé, who made a wry face as he recalled the misadventure of his protégé, who pretended to the hand of the rich heiress, Mlle. de Beaumesnil.

"How amiable you are, duchess, to have accepted my invitation!" said the doctor to Herminie, whom he advanced to welcome, kissing her hand respectfully. "If I must tell you, madame, I counted on you to decide on this dear pride, that M. de Maillefort, M. de Senneterre, and I admire so much in you."

"And how is that, my dear doctor?" said Gerald de Senneterre, affectionately. "I well know that I owe the happiness of my life to my wife's pride, but — "

"Our dear doctor is right," replied Herminie, smiling. "I am very proud of the friendship he has for us, and I avail myself of every opportunity to show him how much I appreciate his attachment, without even speaking of the eternal gratitude we owe him for his devoted care of my son and the daughter of Ernestine. I need not tell you, dear doctor, how much she regrets not being here this evening, but her indisposition keeps her at home, and dear Olivier and her uncle, M. de Maillefort, do not leave the interesting invalid one minute."

"There is nothing like these old sailors, these old soldiers of Africa, and these duellist marquises to make good nurses, without wishing to depreciate the terrible Madame Barbançon," replied the doctor, gaily. "Only, duchess, permit me to differ from you in the construction you have placed on my words. I wished to say that your own tendency to pride assured me beforehand that you will encourage in me that delightful sin, in making me proud to have you in my house."

"And I, doctor," said Gerald de Senneterre, smiling, "I declare that you encourage in us alarmingly the dainty sin of gluttony, because when one has dined at your house, he becomes a gourmand for ever!"

The conversation of the doctor, Herminie, and Gerald, to which the canon was giving close attention, was interrupted by the voice of the valet, who announced:

"M. Yvon Cloarek!"

"Anger," whispered the doctor to the canon, advancing to meet the old corsair, who, notwithstanding his great age, was still hale and vigorous.

"Long live the railroads! for I come this instant from Havre, my old comrade, to assist at the anniversary of your birthday," said Yvon, cordially grasping the doctor's hands, "and to come here I have left Sabine, Sabinon, and Sabinette, — names that the old centenarian, Segoffin, my head artilleryman, has given to my granddaughter and great-granddaughter, for I am a great-grandfather, you know."

"Zounds! old comrade, and I hope you will not stop at that!"

"And so my son-in-law, Onésime, whom you ushered into life thirty years ago, charged me to remember him to you. And here I am!"

"Could you fail to be at our annual reunions, Yvon, my brave comrade, I should have one of those magnificent attacks of anger which used to possess you."

Then turning to the canon and the abbé, the doctor presented Yvon, saying:

"This is Captain Cloarek, one of our oldest and most illustrious corsairs, the famous hero of the brig Hellhound, which played wonderful tricks at the end of the Empire."

"Ah, captain," said the canon, "in 1812 I was at Gibraltar, and I had the honour of often hearing you and your ship cursed by the English."

"And do you know, my dear canon, to what admirable sin Captain Cloarek owes his glory, and the services he rendered to France in the victorious cruises he made against the English? I am going to tell you, and my old friend will not contradict me. Glory, success, riches, — he owes all to anger."

"To anger?" exclaimed the abbé.

"To anger!" said the canon.

"The truth is, gentlemen," modestly answered Cloarek, "that the little I have done for my country I owe to my naturally tremendous anger."

"M. and Madame Michel," announced the valet.

"Indolence," said the doctor to the canon and the abbé, approaching Florence and her husband, — Michel having married Madame de Lucenay after the death of M. de Lucenay, victim of a balloon ascension he had attempted from Mount Chimborazo, in company with Valentine.

"Ah, madame," said Doctor Gasterini, gallantly kissing the hand of Florence, "how well I know your good-will when you tear yourself away from your self-indulgent, sweet habits of idleness, to give me the pleasure of having you at my house before your departure for your beautiful retreat in Provence."

"Why, my good doctor," replied the young woman, smiling, "do you forget that indolent people are capable of everything?"

"Even of making the incredible effort of coming to dine with one of their best friends," added Michel, grasping the doctor's hand.

"And to think," replied Doctor Gasterini, "just to think that several years ago I was consulted for the purpose of curing you of this dreadful sin of indolence. Happily the limitations of science, and especially the profound respect I feel for the gifts of the Creator, prevented my attempt upon the ineffable supineness with which you are endowed."

And designating Abbé Ledoux by a glance of his eye, the doctor added:

"And, madame, Abbé Ledoux, whom I have the honour of presenting to you, considers me, at this hour even, a pagan, a dreadful idolater. Be good enough to rehabilitate me in his opinion, by informing this saintly man that you and your husband have, in the midst of profound and invincible idleness, exercised an activity without bounds, an inconceivable energy, and a sagacity which have secured for both of you an honourable independence."

"For the honour of indolence, respected abbé," replied Florence, smiling, "I am obliged to do violence to my own modesty, as well as that of my husband, by confessing that the dear doctor has spoken the truth."

"M. Richard!" announced the valet.

"Avarice," whispered the doctor to the canon and the abbé, while the father of Louis Richard, the happy husband of Marietta, advanced to meet him.

"Is this M. Richard?" said the abbé, in a low voice to Doctor Gasterini, "the founder of those schools and houses of retreat established at Chaillot, and so admirably organised?"