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The Elixir of Life-Part5_Honore de Balzac(1799-1850)_Translated Works(翻译文学)

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enameled like a meadow, sent up a soft murmur through the quiet

night. Then the great doors of the church opened.
Late comers who remained without saw afar, through the three

great open doorways, a scene of which the theatrical illusions of
modern opera can give but a faint idea. The vast church was

lighted up by thousands of candles, offered by saints and sinners
alike eager to win the favor of this new candidate for

canonization, and these self-commending illuminations turned the
great building into an enchanted fairyland. The black archways,

the shafts and capitals, the recessed chapels with gold and
silver gleaming in their depths, the galleries, the Arab

traceries, all the most delicate outlines of that delicate
sculpture, burned in the excess of light like the fantastic

figures in the red heart of a brazier. At the further end of the
church, above that blazing sea, rose the high altar like a

splendid dawn. All the glories of the golden lamps and silver
candlesticks, of banners and tassels, of the shrines of the

saints and votive offerings, paled before the gorgeous brightness
of the reliquary in which Don Juan lay. The blasphemer's body

sparkled with gems, and flowers, and crystal, with diamonds and
gold, and plumes white as the wings of seraphim; they had set it

up on the altar, where the pictures of Christ had stood. All
about him blazed a host of tall candles; the air quivered in the

radiant light. The worthy Abbot of San-Lucar, in pontifical
robes, with his mitre set with precious stones, his rochet and

golden crosier, sat enthroned in imperial state among his clergy
in the choir. Rows of impassive aged faces, silver-haired old men

clad in fine linen albs, were grouped about him, as the saints
who confessed Christ on earth are set by painters, each in his

place, about the throne of God in heaven. The precentor and the
dignitaries of the chapter, adorned with the gorgeous insignia of

ecclesiastical vanity, came and went through the clouds of
incense, like stars upon their courses in the firmament.

When the hour of triumph arrived, the bells awoke the echoes far
and wide, and the whole vast crowd raised to God the first cry of

praise that begins the Te Deum. A sublime cry! High, pure notes,
the voices of women in ecstasy, mingled in it with the sterner

and deeper voices of men; thousands of voices sent up a volume of
sound so mighty, that the straining, groaning organ-pipes could

not dominate that harmony. But the shrill sound of children's
singing among the choristers, the reverberation of deep bass

notes, awakened gracious associations, visions of childhood, and
of man in his strength, and rose above that entrancing harmony of

human voices blended in one sentiment of love.
Te Deum laudamus!

The chant went up from the black masses of men and women kneeling
in the cathedral, like a sudden breaking out of light in

darkness, and the silence was shattered as by a peal of thunder.
The voices floated up with the clouds of incense that had begun

to cast thin bluish veils over the fanciful marvels of the
architecture, and the aisles were filled with splendor and

perfume and light and melody. Even at the moment when that music
of love and thanksgiving soared up to the altar, Don Juan, too

well bred not to express his acknowledgments, too witty not to
understand how to take a jest, bridled up in his reliquary, and

responded with an appalling burst of laughter. Then the Devil
having put him in mind of the risk he was running of being taken

for an ordinary man, a saint, a Boniface, a Pantaleone, he
interrupted the melody of love by a yell, the thousand voices of

hell joined in it. Earth blessed, Heaven banned. The church was
shaken to its ancient foundations.

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 God!" 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 Hell," shouted Don Juan,
gnashing his teeth. In another moment the living arm struggled

out of the reliquary, and was brandished over the assembly 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 noblis!" 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 God!" the voice cried, as the

Abbot, bitten through the brain, drew his last breath.
PARIS, October 1830.

End


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