Chapter II: Turn Vagabond

On re-entering the cloister, the archdeacon found at the door of
his cell his brother Jehan du Moulin, who was waiting for him,
and who had beguiled the tedium of waiting by drawing on the wall
with a bit of charcoal, a profile of his elder brother, enriched
with a monstrous nose.

Dom Claude hardly looked at his brother; his thoughts were
elsewhere. That merry scamp’s face whose beaming had so often
restored serenity to the priest’s sombre physiognomy, was now
powerless to melt the gloom which grew more dense every day over
that corrupted, mephitic, and stagnant soul.

“Brother,” said Jehan timidly, “I am come to see you.”

The archdeacon did not even raise his eyes.

“What then?”

“Brother,” resumed the hypocrite, “you are so good to me, and you
give me such wise counsels that I always return to you.”

“What next?”

“Alas! brother, you were perfectly right when you said to
me,—“Jehan! Jehan! _cessat doctorum doctrina, discipulorum
disciplina_. Jehan, be wise, Jehan, be learned, Jehan, pass not
the night outside of the college without lawful occasion and due
leave of the master. Cudgel not the Picards: _noli, Joannes,
verberare Picardos_. Rot not like an unlettered ass, _quasi
asinus illitteratus_, on the straw seats of the school. Jehan,
allow yourself to be punished at the discretion of the master.
Jehan go every evening to chapel, and sing there an anthem with
verse and orison to Madame the glorious Virgin Mary.”—Alas! what
excellent advice was that!”

“And then?”

“Brother, you behold a culprit, a criminal, a wretch, a
libertine, a man of enormities! My dear brother, Jehan hath made
of your counsels straw and dung to trample under foot. I have
been well chastised for it, and God is extraordinarily just. As
long as I had money, I feasted, I lead a mad and joyous life. Oh!
how ugly and crabbed behind is debauch which is so charming in
front! Now I have no longer a blank; I have sold my napery, my
shirt and my towels; no more merry life! The beautiful candle is
extinguished and I have henceforth, only a wretched tallow dip
which smokes in my nose. The wenches jeer at me. I drink water. I
am overwhelmed with remorse and with creditors.”

“The rest?” said the archdeacon.

“Alas! my very dear brother, I should like to settle down to a
better life. I come to you full of contrition, I am penitent. I
make my confession. I beat my breast violently. You are quite
right in wishing that I should some day become a licentiate and
sub-monitor in the college of Torchi. At the present moment I
feel a magnificent vocation for that profession. But I have no
more ink and I must buy some; I have no more paper, I have no
more books, and I must buy some. For this purpose, I am greatly
in need of a little money, and I come to you, brother, with my
heart full of contrition.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes,” said the scholar. “A little money.”

“I have none.”

Then the scholar said, with an air which was both grave and
resolute: “Well, brother, I am sorry to be obliged to tell you
that very fine offers and propositions are being made to me in
another quarter. You will not give me any money? No. In that case
I shall become a professional vagabond.”

As he uttered these monstrous words, he assumed the mien of Ajax,
expecting to see the lightnings descend upon his head.

The archdeacon said coldly to him,—

“Become a vagabond.”

Jehan made him a deep bow, and descended the cloister stairs,
whistling.

At the moment when he was passing through the courtyard of the
cloister, beneath his brother’s window, he heard that window
open, raised his eyes and beheld the archdeacon’s severe head
emerge.

“Go to the devil!” said Dom Claude; “here is the last money which
you will get from me?”

At the same time, the priest flung Jehan a purse, which gave the
scholar a big bump on the forehead, and with which Jehan
retreated, both vexed and content, like a dog who had been stoned
with marrow bones.