E-text prepared by Camille François, Suzanne Shell,
and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
()
J. K. Huysmans
Translated by W. Fleming
| CHAPTER I. |
| CHAPTER II. |
| CHAPTER III. |
| CHAPTER IV. |
| CHAPTER V. |
| CHAPTER VI. |
| CHAPTER VII. |
| CHAPTER VIII. |
| CHAPTER IX. |
| CHAPTER X. |
| CHAPTER I. |
| CHAPTER II. |
| CHAPTER III. |
| CHAPTER IV. |
| CHAPTER V. |
| CHAPTER VI. |
| CHAPTER VII. |
| CHAPTER VIII. |
| CHAPTER IX. |
During the first week in November, the week within the Octaveof AllSouls, Durtal entered St. Sulpice, at eight o'clock in the evening. Heoften chose to turn into that church, because there was a trainedchoir,and because he could there examine himself at peace, apart from thecrowd. The ugliness of the nave, with its heavy vaulting, vanished atnight, the aisles were often empty, it was ill-lighted by a fewlamps—it was possible for a man to chide his soul in secret, as if athome.
Durtal sat down behind the high altar, on the left, in theaisle alongthe Rue de St. Sulpice; the lamps of the choir organ were lighted. Faroff, in the almost empty nave, an ecclesiastic was preaching. Herecognized, by the unctuousness of his delivery, and his oily accent, awell-fed priest who poured on his audience, according to his wont, hisbest known commonplaces.
"Why are they so devoid of eloquence?" thought Durtal. "I