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<h2> V. THE REVEREND FATHERS AGARIC AND CORNEMUSE </h2>
<p>Colomban bore with meekness and surprise the weight of the general
reprobation. He could not go out without being stoned, so he did not go
out. He remained in his study with a superb obstinacy, writing new
memoranda in favour of the encaged innocent. In the mean time among the
few readers that he found, some, about a dozen, were struck by his reasons
and began to doubt Pyrot's guilt. They broached the subject to their
friends and endeavoured to spread the light that had arisen in their
minds. One of them was a friend of Robin Mielleux and confided to him his
perplexities, with the result that he was no longer received by that
Minister. Another demanded explanations in an open letter to the Minister
of War. A third published a terrible pamphlet. The latter, whose name was
Kerdanic, was a formidable controversialist. The public was unmoved. It
was said that these defenders of the traitor had been bribed by the rich
Jews; they were stigmatized by the name of Pyrotists and the patriots
swore to exterminate them. There were only a thousand or twelve hundred
Pyrotists in the whole vast Republic, but it was believed that they were
everywhere. People were afraid of finding them in the promenades, at
meetings, at receptions, in fashionable drawing-rooms, at the
dinner-table, even in the conjugal couch. One half of the population was
suspected by the other half. The discord set all Alca on fire.</p>
<p>In the mean time Father Agaric, who managed his big school for young
nobles, followed events with anxious attention. The misfortunes of the
Penguin Church had not disheartened him. He remained faithful to Prince
Crucho and preserved the hope of restoring the heir of the Draconides to
the Penguin throne. It appeared to him that the events that were happening
or about to happen in the country, the state of mind of which they were at
once the effect and the cause, and the troubles that necessarily resulted
from them might—if they were directed, guided, and led by the
profound wisdom of a monk—overthrow the Republic and incline the
Penguins to restore Prince Crucho, from whose piety the faithful hoped for
so much solace. Wearing his huge black hat, the brims of which looked like
the wings of Night, he walked through the Wood of Conils towards the
factory where his venerable friend, Father Cornemuse, distilled the
hygienic St. Orberosian liqueur, The good monk's industry, so cruelly
affected in the time of Emiral Chatillon, was being restored from its
ruins. One heard goods trains rumbling through the Wood and one saw in the
sheds hundreds of orphans clothed in blue, packing bottles and nailing up
cases.</p>
<p>Agaric found the venerable Cornemuse standing before his stoves and
surrounded by his retorts. The shining pupils of the old man's eyes had
again become as rubies, his skull shone with its former elaborate and
careful polish.</p>
<p>Agaric first congratulated the pious distiller on the restored activity of
his laboratories and workshops.</p>
<p>"Business is recovering. I thank God for it," answered the old man of
Conils. "Alas! it had fallen into a bad state, Brother Agaric. You raw the
desolation of this establishment. I need say no more."</p>
<p>Agaric turned away his head.</p>
<p>"The St. Orberosian liqueur," continued Cornemuse, "is making fresh
conquests. But none the less my industry remains uncertain and precarious.
The laws of ruin and desolation that struck it have not been abrogated,
they have only been suspended."</p>
<p>And the monk of Conils lifted his ruby eyes to heaven.</p>
<p>Agaric put his hand on his shoulder.</p>
<p>"What a sight, Cornemuse, does unhappy Penguinia present to us! Everywhere
disobedience, independence, liberty! We seethe proud, the haughty, the men
of revolt rising up. After having braved the Divine laws they now rear
themselves against human laws, so true is it that in order to be a good
citizen a man must be a good Christian. Colomban is trying to imitate
Satan. Numerous criminals are following his fatal example. They want, in
their rage, to put aside all checks, to throw off all yokes, to free
themselves from the most sacred bonds, to escape from the most salutary
restraints. They strike their country to make it obey them. But they will
be overcome by the weight of public animadversion, vituperation,
indignation, fury, execration, and abomination. That is the abyss to which
they have been led by atheism, free thought, and the monstrous claim to
judge for themselves and to form their own opinions."</p>
<p>"Doubtless, doubtless," replied Father Cornemuse, shaking his head, "but I
confess that the care of distilling these simples has prevented me from
following public affairs. I only know that people are talking a great deal
about a man called Pyrot. Some maintain that he is guilty, others affirm
that he is innocent, but I do not clearly understand the motives that
drive both parties to mix themselves up in a business that concerns
neither of them."</p>
<p>The pious Agaric asked eagerly:</p>
<p>"You do not doubt Pyrot's guilt?"</p>
<p>"I cannot doubt it, dear Agaric," answered the monk of Conils. "That would
be contrary to the laws of my country which we ought to respect as long as
they are not opposed to the Divine laws. Pyrot is guilty, for he has been
convicted. As to saying more for or against his guilt, that would be to
erect my own authority against that of the judges, a thing which I will
take good care not to do. Besides, it is useless, for Pyrot has been
convicted. If he has not been convicted because he is guilty, he is guilty
because he has been convicted; it comes to the same thing. I believe in
his guilt as every good citizen ought to believe in it; and I will believe
in it as long as the established jurisdiction will order me to believe in
it, for it is not for a private person but for a judge to proclaim the
innocence of a convicted person. Human justice is venerable even in the
errors inherent in its fallible and limited nature. These errors are never
irreparable; if the judges do not repair them on earth, God will repair
them in Heaven. Besides I have great confidence in general Greatauk, who,
though he certainly does not look it, seems to me to be an abler man than
all those who are attacking him."</p>
<p>"Dearest Cornemuse," cried the pious Agaric, "the Pyrot affair, if pushed
to the point whither we can lead it by the help of God and the necessary
funds, will produce the greatest benefits. It will lay bare the vices of
this Anti-Christian Republic and will incline the Penguins to restore the
throne of the Draconides and the prerogatives of the Church. But to do
that it is necessary for the people to see the clergy in the front rank of
its defenders. Let us march against the enemies of the army, against those
who insult our heroes, and everybody will follow us."</p>
<p>"Everybody will be too many," murmured the monk of Conils, shaking his
head. "I see that the Penguins want to quarrel. If we mix ourselves up in
their quarrel they will become reconciled at our expense and we shall have
to pay the cost of the war. That is why, if you are guided by me, dear
Agaric, you will not engage the Church in this adventure."</p>
<p>"You know my energy; you know my prudence. I will compromise nothing. . .
. Dear Cornemuse, I only want from you the funds necessary for us to begin
the campaign."</p>
<p>For a long time Cornemuse refused to bear the expenses of what he thought
was a fatal enterprise. Agaric was in turn pathetic and terrible. At last,
yielding to his prayers and threats, Cornemuse, with banging head and
swinging arms, went to the austere cell that concealed his evangelical
poverty. In the whitewashed wall under a branch of blessed box, there was
fixed a safe. He opened it, and with a sigh took out a bundle of bills
which, with hesitating hands, he gave to the pious Agaric.</p>
<p>"Do not doubt it, dear Cornemuse," said the latter, thrusting the papers
into the pocket of his overcoat, "this Pyrot affair has been sent us by
God for the glory and exaltation of the Church of Penguinia."</p>
<p>"I pray that you may be right!" sighed the monk of Conils.</p>
<p>And, left alone in his laboratory, he gazed, through his exquisite eyes,
with an ineffable sadness at his stoves and his retorts.</p>
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