The Vicar of Tours | Page 5

stone staircase, was on the side of the
house that faced south. The Abbe Troubert occupied the ground-floor,
and Mademoiselle Gamard the first floor of the main building, looking
on the street. When Chapeloud took possession of his rooms they were
bare of furniture, and the ceilings were blackened with smoke. The
stone mantelpieces, which were very badly cut, had never been painted.
At first, the only furniture the poor canon could put in was a bed, a
table, a few chairs, and the books he possessed. The apartment was like
a beautiful woman in rags. But two or three years later, an old lady
having left the Abbe Chapeloud two thousand francs, he spent that sum
on the purchase of an oak bookcase, the relic of a chateau pulled down
by the Bande Noire, the carving of which deserved the admiration of all
artists. The abbe made the purchase less because it was very cheap than
because the dimensions of the bookcase exactly fitted the space it was
to fill in his gallery. His savings enabled him to renovate the whole
gallery, which up to this time had been neglected and shabby. The floor

was carefully waxed, the ceiling whitened, the wood-work painted to
resemble the grain and knots of oak. A long table in ebony and two
cabinets by Boulle completed the decoration, and gave to this gallery a
certain air that was full of character. In the course of two years the
liberality of devout persons, and legacies, though small ones, from
pious penitents, filled the shelves of the bookcase, till then half empty.
Moreover, Chapeloud's uncle, an old Oratorian, had left him his
collection in folio of the Fathers of the Church, and several other
important works that were precious to a priest.
Birotteau, more and more surprised by the successive improvements of
the gallery, once so bare, came by degrees to a condition of involuntary
envy. He wished he could possess that apartment, so thoroughly in
keeping with the gravity of ecclestiastical life. The passion increased
from day to day. Working, sometimes for days together, in this retreat,
the vicar could appreciate the silence and the peace that reigned there.
During the following year the Abbe Chapeloud turned a small room
into an oratory, which his pious friends took pleasure in beautifying.
Still later, another lady gave the canon a set of furniture for his
bedroom, the covering of which she had embroidered under the eyes of
the worthy man without his ever suspecting its destination. The
bedroom then had the same effect upon the vicar that the gallery had
long had; it dazzled him. Lastly, about three years before the Abbe
Chapeloud's death, he completed the comfort of his apartment by
decorating the salon. Though the furniture was plainly covered in red
Utrecht velvet, it fascinated Birotteau. From the day when the canon's
friend first laid eyes on the red damask curtains, the mahogany
furniture, the Aubusson carpet which adorned the vast room, then lately
painted, his envy of Chapeloud's apartment became a monomania
hidden within his breast. To live there, to sleep in that bed with the silk
curtains where the canon slept, to have all Chapeloud's comforts about
him, would be, Birotteau felt, complete happiness; he saw nothing
beyond it. All the envy, all the ambition which the things of this world
give birth to in the hearts of other men concentrated themelves for
Birotteau in the deep and secret longing he felt for an apartment like
that which the Abbe Chapeloud had created for himself. When his
friend fell ill he went to him out of true affection; but all the same,
when he first heard of his illness, and when he sat by his bed to keep

him company, there arose in the depths of his consciousness, in spite of
himself, a crowd of thoughts the simple formula of which was always,
"If Chapeloud dies I can have this apartment." And yet--Birotteau
having an excellent heart, contracted ideas, and a limited mind--he did
not go so far as to think of means by which to make his friend bequeath
to him the library and the furniture.
The Abbe Chapeloud, an amiable, indulgent egoist, fathomed his
friend's desires--not a difficult thing to do--and forgave them; which
may seem less easy to a priest; but it must be remembered that the vicar,
whose friendship was faithful, did not fail to take a daily walk with his
friend along their usual path in the Mail de Tours, never once depriving
him of an instant of the time devoted for over twenty years to that
exercise. Birotteau, who regarded his secret wishes as crimes, would
have been capable, out of contrition, of the utmost devotion to his
friend. The latter paid his debt of gratitude for