href="@public@vhost@g@gutenberg@html@files@43280@[email protected]#the-relapse">The Relapse

JEAN BAPTISTE

CHAPTER I

THE VOCATION OF JEAN BAPTISTE

"You may read, Jean," said Mademoiselle Angers; whereupon a breath of renewed interest passed through the schoolroom, as Jean Baptiste Giroux rose in his place and began to read, in a clear and resonant voice, the story of that other Jean Baptiste, his patron saint.

"Saint John, dwelling alone in the wilderness beyond the Dead Sea, prepared himself by self discipline and by constant communion with God, for the wonderful office to which he had been divinely called. The very appearance of the holy Baptist was of itself a lesson to his countrymen. His dress was that of the old prophets--a garment of camel's hair attached to his body by a leathern girdle. His food was such as the desert afforded--locusts and wild honey. Because of his exalted sanctity a great multitude came to him from every quarter. Brief and startling was his final exhortation to them: 'Repent ye, for the Kingdom of Heaven is at hand.'"

It was a simple and oft-repeated story, but there was something in the voice and manner of Jean that compelled attention. All the children listened; also the teacher; and the visitor, M. Paradis, curé of the parish, was visibly impressed. He brought his horn-rimmed spectacles down from the top of his head, set them firmly on the bridge of his nose, and regarded Jean for some moments without saying a word.

Jean returned the gaze with a steady, respectful glance; then let his eyes fall until they were looking at the floor just below the curé's feet. It was not polite to stare at visitors, but one might look at their boots. The boots of M. Paradis were covered with dust. He had walked all the way from the presbytery, two miles or more--that was evident.

"Ah, it is you, Jean," said the curé.

"Oui, Monsieur," said Jean,

"How old are you, Jean?"

"Sixteen years, Monsieur."

"Sixteen years! It seems like yesterday since you were baptized. How the time goes! Sixteen years, you say? You are no longer a child, Jean, no indeed. Well, it is high time to decide what we are going to make of you, certainly. Tell me, Jean; you admire the character of your patron saint, do you not?"

"Mais oui, Monsieur."

"In what respect, my son?"

"Oh, Monsieur, he was a hero, without fear and without reproach, like Bayard."

"Bayard, Jean, what do you know of him?"

"He also was a hero, Monsieur. Mademoiselle Angers has told us about him."

"Without doubt. But Jean, Jean Baptiste, would you not like to be a hero like your patron saint?"

"Oui, Monsieur."

"Forerunner of the true God? Tell me that, Jean."

"Ah, Monsieur, as to that I do not know."

"You shall be, Jean, you shall be. Come, Jean, come with me this instant. We will go to see your parents, that is to say, your mother. Your father, Jean, was a good man; he rests in God. Pardon us, Mademoiselle. I fear that we have transgressed. But it is a very important matter and I wish to speak to Madame Giroux without delay. Permit us, if you please, to go now. Will you not grant us this favour, Mademoiselle?"

"With pleasure, Monsieur le curé," said the teacher. "And I hope that you will find something suitable for Jean. He is a boy of great force of character, one who might be very good or very bad."

"True, Mademoiselle; it is always thus. Adieu, Mademoiselle. Adieu, my children."

"Jean," said the curé, as they walked along the winding valley road, "I have known you for a long time, since you were a very small child; and I think, yes, I quite think that you have the vocation, the divine call to the service of God and His Church. Yes, it seems to me that you have all the marks. See! Probitas vitæ, innocence of life. I have not heard of any real wickedness that you have done. Faults, perhaps, like all boys; transgressions even, but nothing serious; venial sins, merely, like all mortals.

"Again, scientia conveniens, scholarship. In that you are very strong for your age, assuredly. Mademoiselle Angers has told me that you are by far the most promising pupil in the school. Do not be proud, Jean; all that comes from God. Be glad and humble.

"Finally, recta intentio, sincere desire, pure and holy zeal for the glory of God, and the salvation of souls. Jean, Jean Baptiste, have you really these desires, these aspirations? Are you willing to give yourself to this holy work? Will you renounce the world, the flesh and the devil, and consecrate yourself to the service of God? Tell me, my son."

"My father," said Jean, hesitating and embarrassed, "I wish--I do not know what I wish. I would do something, I know not what. For the glory of God? Yes. For the good of man? Ah, yes. At least, for my relations, the neighbours, the parish. But to be a priest? No, Monsieur le curé, I cannot."

"But, Jean, you wish to attain the highest possible, do you not? I am sure that you do."

"Mais oui, Monsieur."

"Good, Jean, that is good. Then you shall be a priest. It is the only way to the excellence which you desire, unless you would follow the religious life. But you have no vocation in that direction, as I think."

"Monsieur!"

"Say no more, Jean. It is decided. Do not trouble. Here we are at your place, and we shall see Madame, your mother. Ah, there she is. Bonjour, Madame Giroux. We are making an early visit, are we not?"

"Mais non, Monsieur, you are always welcome. Be so good as to enter. Your blessing, Monsieur le curé, on us and our poor house. It is a great honour to have such a visit. Jean, place the armchair for Monsieur Paradis. Marie, bring a glass of cordial for Monsieur; also some of the cakes which you made yesterday. Monsieur Paradis, it is a cordial which I made myself last summer of wild cherries, and it is excellent for the stomach."

"Madame, the cordial is a veritable nectar, and the cakes are as the bread of angels."

"It is Marie, Monsieur, who made the cakes. She is a treasure, that girl. I wish that all mothers could have such a daughter in their old age."

"You are indeed fortunate, Madame. And you have other daughters--Marguerite, Sophie, Therese, Agathe--I remember them well."

"What a memory you have, Monsieur le curé! Yes, five daughters, all married but this little Marie, and