Chapter XIII
Original French
La belle Saint-Yves va à Versailles.
Pendant que notre infortuné s’éclairait plus qu’il ne se consolait;pendant que son génie, étouffé depuis si long-temps, se déployait avectant de rapidité et de force; pendant que la nature, qui seperfectionnait en lui, le vengeait des outrages de la fortune, quedevinrent monsieur le prieur et sa bonne soeur, et la belle recluseSaint-Yves? Le premier mois on fut inquiet, et au troisième on futplongé dans la douleur; les fausses conjectures, les bruits mal fondés,alarmèrent: au bout de six mois on le crut mort. Enfin monsieur etmademoiselle de Kerkabon apprirent, par une ancienne lettre qu’un gardedu roi avait écrite en Bretagne, qu’un jeune homme semblable à l’Ingénuétait arrivé un soir à Versailles, mais qu’il avait été enlevé pendantla nuit, et que depuis ce temps personne n’en avait entendu parler.
Hélas! dit mademoiselle de Kerkabon, notre neveu aura fait quelquesottise, et se sera attiré de fâcheuses affaires. Il est jeune, il estBas-Breton, il ne peut savoir comme on doit se comporter à la cour. Moncher frère, je n’ai jamais vu Versailles ni Paris; voici une belleoccasion, nous retrouverons peut-être notre pauvre neveu: c’est le filsde notre frère; notre devoir est de le secourir. Qui sait si nous nepourrons point parvenir enfin à le faire sous-diacre, quand la fouguede la jeunesse sera amortie? Il avait beaucoup de dispositions pour lessciences. Vous souvenez-vous comme il raisonnait sur l’ancien et sur lenouveau Testament? Nous sommes responsables de son âme; c’est nousqui l’avons fait baptiser; sa chère maîtresse Saint-Yves passe lesjournées à pleurer. En vérité il faut aller à Paris. S’il est cachédans quelqu’une de ces vilaines maisons de joie dont on m’a fait tantde récits, nous l’en tirerons. Le prieur fut touché des discours de sasoeur. Il alla trouver l’évêque de Saint-Malo, qui avait baptisé leHuron, et lui demanda sa protection et ses conseils. Le prélat approuvale voyage. Il donna au prieur des lettres de recommandation pour le P.de La Chaise, confesseur du roi, qui avait la première dignité duroyaume, pour l’archevêque de Paris, Harlay, et pour l’évêque de Meaux,Bossuet.
Enfin le frère et la soeur partirent; mais, quand ils furent arrivés àParis, ils se trouvèrent égarés comme dans un vaste labyrinthe, sansfil et sans issue. Leur fortune était médiocre, et il leur fallait tousles jours des voitures pour aller à la découverte, et ils nedécouvraient rien.
Le prieur se présenta chez le révérend P. de La Chaise; il était avecmademoiselle Du Tron, et ne pouvait donner audience à des prieurs. Ilalla à la porte de l’archevêque; le prélat était enfermé avec labelle madame de Lesdiguières pour les affaires de l’Eglise. Il courut àla maison de campagne de l’évêque de Meaux; celui-ci examinait, avecmademoiselle de Mauléon, l’amour mystique de madame Guyon. Cependant ilparvint à se faire entendre de ces deux prélats; tous deux luidéclarèrent qu’ils ne pouvaient se mêler de son neveu, attendu qu’iln’était pas sous-diacre.
Enfin il vit le jésuite; celui-ci le reçut à bras ouverts, lui protestaqu’il avait toujours eu pour lui une estime particulière, ne l’ayantjamais connu. Il jura que la Société avait toujours été attachée auxBas-Bretons. Mais, dit-il, votre neveu n’aurait-il pas le malheurd’être huguenot?—Non, assurément, mon révérend père.—Serait-il pointjanséniste?—Je puis assurer à votre révérence qu’à peine est-ilchrétien: il y a environ onze mois que nous l’avons baptisé.—Voilà quiest bien, voilà qui est bien, nous aurons soin de lui. Votre bénéficeest-il considérable?—Oh! fort peu de chose, et mon neveu nous coûtebeaucoup.—Y a-t-il quelques jansénistes dans le voisinage? Prenez biengarde, mon cher monsieur le prieur, ils sont plus dangereux que leshuguenots et les athées.—Mon révérend père, nous n’en avons point; onne sait ce que c’est que le jansénisme à Notre-Dame de laMontagne.—Tant mieux; allez, il n’y a rien que je ne fasse pour vous.Il congédia affectueusement le prieur, et n’y pensa plus.
Le temps s’écoulait, le prieur et la bonne soeur se désespéraient.
Cependant le maudit bailli pressait le mariage de son grand benêt defils avec la belle Saint-Yves, qu’on avait fait sortir exprès ducouvent. Elle aimait toujours son cher filleul autant qu’elle détestaitle mari qu’on lui présentait. L’affront d’avoir été mise dans uncouvent augmentait sa passion; l’ordre d’épouser le fils du bailli ymettait le comble. Les regrets, la tendresse, et l’horreur,bouleversaient son âme. L’amour, comme on sait, est bien plus ingénieuxet plus hardi dans une jeune fille, que l’amitié ne l’est dans un vieuxprieur et dans une tante de quarante-cinq ans passés. De plus, elles’était bien formée dans son couvent par les romans qu’elle avait lus àla dérobée. La belle Saint-Yves se souvenait de la lettre qu’un gardedu corps avait écrite en Basse-Bretagne, et dont on avait parlé dans laprovince. Elle résolut d’aller elle-même prendre des informations àVersailles; de se jeter aux pieds des ministres, si son mari était enprison, comme on le disait, et d’obtenir justice pour lui. Je ne saisquoi l’avertissait secrètement qu’à la cour on ne refuse rien à unejolie fille; mais elle ne savait pas ce qu’il en coûtait.
Sa résolution prise, elle est consolée, elle est tranquille, elle nerebute plus son sot prétendu; elle accueille le détestable beau-père,caresse son frère, répand l’allégresse dans la maison; puis, le jourdestiné à la cérémonie, elle part secrètement à quatre heures du matinavec ses petits présents de noce, et tout ce qu’elle a pu rassembler.Ses mesures étaient si bien prises, qu’elle était déjà à plus de dixlieues lorsqu’on entra dans sa chambre, vers le midi. La surprise et laconsternation furent grandes. L’interrogant bailli fit ce jour-là plusde questions qu’il n’en avait fait dans toute la semaine; le mari restaplus sot qu’il ne l’avait jamais été. L’abbé de Saint-Yves en colèreprit le parti de courir après sa soeur. Le bailli et son fils voulurentl’accompagner. Ainsi la destinée conduisait à Paris presque tout cecanton de la Basse-Bretagne.
La belle Saint-Yves se doutait bien qu’on la suivrait. Elle était àcheval; elle s’informait adroitement des courriers s’ils n’avaientpoint rencontré un gros abbé, un énorme bailli, et un jeune benêt, quicouraient sur le chemin de Paris. Ayant appris au troisième jour qu’ilsn’étaient pas loin, elle prit une route différente, et eut assezd’habileté et de bonheur pour arriver à Versailles, tandis qu’on lacherchait inutilement dans Paris.
Mais comment se conduire à Versailles? jeune, belle, sans conseil, sansappui, inconnue, exposée à tout, comment oser chercher un garde du roi?Elle imagina de s’adresser à un jésuite du bas étage; il y en avaitpour toutes les conditions de la vie: comme Dieu, disaient-ils, a donnédifférentes nourritures aux diverses espèces d’animaux, il avait donnéau roi son confesseur, que tous les solliciteurs de bénéficesappelaient le chef de l’Église gallicane; ensuite venaient lesconfesseurs des princesses; les ministres n’en avaient point; ilsn’étaient pas si sots. Il y avait les jésuites du grand commun, etsurtout les jésuites des femmes de chambre par lesquelles on savait lessecrets des maîtresses; et ce n’était pas un petit emploi. La belleSaint-Yves s’adressa à un de ces derniers, qui s’appelait le P.Tout-à-tous. Elle se confessa à lui, lui exposa ses aventures, sonétat, son danger, et le conjura de la loger chez quelque bonne dévotequi la mît à l’abri des tentations.
Le P. Tout-à-tous l’introduisit chez la femme d’un officier du gobelet,l’une de ses plus affidées pénitentes. Dès qu’elle y fut, elles’empressa de gagner la confiance et l’amitié de cette femme; elles’informa du garde breton, et le fit prier de venir chez elle. Ayant sude lui que son amant avait été enlevé après avoir parlé à un premiercommis, elle court chez ce commis: la vue d’une belle femme l’adoucit,car il faut convenir que Dieu n’a créé les femmes que pour apprivoiserles hommes.
Le plumitif attendri lui avoua tout. Votre amant est à la Bastilledepuis près d’un an, et sans vous il y serait peut-être toute sa vie.La tendre Saint-Yves s’évanouit. Quand elle eut repris ses sens, leplumitif lui dit: Je suis sans crédit pour faire du bien; tout monpouvoir se borne à faire du mal quelquefois. Croyez-moi, allez chez M.de Saint-Pouange, qui fait le bien et le mal, cousin et favori demonseigneur de Louvois. Ce ministre a deux âmes: M. de Saint-Pouange enest une; madame Dufresnoy, l’autre; mais elle n’est pas à présent àVersailles; il ne vous reste que de fléchir le protecteur que je vousindique. La belle Saint-Yves, partagée entre un peu de joie etd’extrêmes douleurs, entre quelque espérance et de tristes craintes,poursuivie par son frère, adorant son amant, essuyant ses larmes et enversant encore, tremblante, affaiblie, et reprenant courage, courutvite chez M. de Saint-Pouange.
Musean translation
Complete machine-assisted Musean translation made directly from the French, independently of the Plain English edition. All twenty chapters and Voltaire’s three author notes are retained; Beuchot’s editorial apparatus is omitted.
The beautiful Saint-Yves goes to Versailles.
While our unfortunate young man found more enlightenment than consolation; while his gifts, so long stifled, unfolded with such speed and force; while nature, perfecting herself within him, avenged him for the outrages of fortune—what had become of the prior and his good sister, and of the beautiful, secluded Saint-Yves? In the first month they were anxious, and by the third they were plunged in sorrow; false conjectures and groundless rumors alarmed them; after six months they believed him dead. At last Monsieur and Mademoiselle de Kerkabon learned, through an old letter a royal guardsman had written to Brittany, that a young man resembling the Ingénu had arrived at Versailles one evening, but had been carried off during the night, and that no one had heard of him since.
"Alas!" said Mademoiselle de Kerkabon. "Our nephew must have done something foolish and brought trouble upon himself. He is young, he is a Lower Breton; he cannot know how one ought to behave at court. My dear brother, I have never seen Versailles or Paris; here is a fine opportunity. Perhaps we shall find our poor nephew: he is our brother's son, and it is our duty to help him. Who knows whether we may not finally succeed in making him a subdeacon, once the ardor of youth has subsided? He had a great aptitude for learning. Do you remember how he reasoned about the Old and New Testaments? We are responsible for his soul; we had him baptized; his dear beloved Saint-Yves spends her days weeping. Truly, we must go to Paris. If he is hiding in one of those nasty houses of pleasure I have heard so many stories about, we shall get him out." The prior was moved by his sister's words. He went to see the bishop of Saint-Malo, who had baptized the Huron, and asked for his protection and advice. The prelate approved the journey. He gave the prior letters of recommendation to Father de La Chaise, the king's confessor, who held the foremost dignity in the kingdom; to Harlay, archbishop of Paris; and to Bossuet, bishop of Meaux.
At last the brother and sister set off; but when they reached Paris, they found themselves lost as in a vast labyrinth, without a guiding thread or a way out. Their means were modest, and every day they needed carriages to go in search of information, and they discovered nothing.
The prior called upon the Reverend Father de La Chaise; he was with Mademoiselle Du Tron and could not grant audiences to priors. He went to the archbishop's door; the prelate was closeted with the beautiful Madame de Lesdiguières on Church business. He hurried to the bishop of Meaux's country house; the bishop was examining Madame Guyon's mystical love with Mademoiselle de Mauléon. Nevertheless, he managed to gain a hearing from these two prelates; both declared that they could not concern themselves with his nephew, since he was not a subdeacon.
At last he saw the Jesuit, who received him with open arms and assured him that he had always held him in particular esteem, never having known him. He swore that the Society had always been devoted to Lower Bretons. "But," he said, "might your nephew have the misfortune to be a Huguenot?" "Certainly not, Reverend Father." "Could he be a Jansenist?" "I can assure Your Reverence that he is scarcely a Christian: we baptized him about eleven months ago." "Very good, very good; we shall look after him. Is your benefice substantial?" "Oh! A very small thing, and our nephew costs us a great deal." "Are there any Jansenists in your neighborhood? Take great care, my dear prior: they are more dangerous than Huguenots and atheists." "Reverend Father, we have none; no one at Our Lady of the Mountain knows what Jansenism is." "So much the better. Go now; there is nothing I will not do for you." He affectionately dismissed the prior and thought no more about him.
Time passed; the prior and his good sister despaired.
Meanwhile the accursed bailiff was pressing the marriage of his great oaf of a son to the beautiful Saint-Yves, who had been brought out of the convent expressly for this purpose. She still loved her dear godson as much as she detested the husband offered to her. The affront of being put in a convent had increased her passion; the order to marry the bailiff's son brought it to its height. Regret, tenderness, and horror convulsed her soul. Love, as everyone knows, is far more ingenious and daring in a young girl than affection in an old prior and an aunt past forty-five. Besides, she had gained considerable experience in her convent through the novels she had read in secret. The beautiful Saint-Yves remembered the letter a bodyguard had written to Lower Brittany, which had been talked of throughout the province. She resolved to go to Versailles herself to make inquiries, to throw herself at the ministers' feet if her husband was in prison, as people said, and to obtain justice for him. Something secretly told her that at court a pretty girl is refused nothing; but she did not know what it cost.
Her resolution taken, she is comforted, she is calm; she no longer rebuffs her foolish suitor; she welcomes the detestable father-in-law, is affectionate to her brother, and spreads joy through the house. Then, on the day appointed for the ceremony, she leaves secretly at four in the morning with her little wedding presents and all she has been able to gather. Her arrangements were so well made that she was already more than ten leagues away when they entered her room around noon. Surprise and consternation were great. The inquisitive bailiff asked more questions that day than he had asked all week; the husband was left looking more foolish than ever. The abbé de Saint-Yves, in his anger, decided to pursue his sister. The bailiff and his son wished to accompany him. Thus destiny was conducting almost that entire corner of Lower Brittany to Paris.
The beautiful Saint-Yves had little doubt she would be followed. She was on horseback, and skillfully asked the couriers whether they had met a fat abbé, an enormous bailiff, and a young simpleton hurrying along the road to Paris. Learning on the third day that they were not far behind, she took a different route, and had skill and good fortune enough to reach Versailles while they searched for her in Paris to no purpose.
But how was she to manage at Versailles? Young, beautiful, without advice or support, unknown, exposed to every danger—how could she dare to seek out a royal guardsman? She thought of applying to a Jesuit of the lower ranks; there were Jesuits for every station in life. Just as God, they said, had given different foods to the different species of animals, he had given the king his confessor, whom all the petitioners for benefices called the head of the Gallican Church; next came the confessors of the princesses; the ministers had none—they were not such fools. There were Jesuits for the common household, and above all Jesuits for the chambermaids, through whom the secrets of their mistresses were learned; and this was no small employment. The beautiful Saint-Yves applied to one of these last, called Father Tout-à-tous. She confessed to him, told him her adventures, her situation, and her danger, and begged him to lodge her with some good devout woman who would shelter her from temptations.
Father Tout-à-tous took her to the wife of an officer of the royal cup service, one of his most trusted penitents. Once there, she hastened to win this woman's confidence and friendship; she inquired after the Breton guardsman and sent him a request to visit her. Learning from him that her lover had been carried off after speaking to a chief clerk, she runs to that clerk. The sight of a beautiful woman softened him, for we must admit that God created women only to tame men.
The softened pen-pusher confessed everything. "Your lover has been in the Bastille for nearly a year, and without you he might remain there all his life." The tender Saint-Yves fainted. When she had recovered her senses, the pen-pusher told her, "I have no influence to do good; all my power extends only to doing harm now and then. Take my advice: go to Monsieur de Saint-Pouange, who does both good and harm, the cousin and favorite of His Lordship de Louvois. This minister has two souls: Monsieur de Saint-Pouange is one, Madame Dufresnoy the other; but she is not at Versailles just now. Your only course is to soften the protector I have pointed out." The beautiful Saint-Yves, divided between a little joy and extreme sorrow, between some hope and mournful fears, pursued by her brother, adoring her lover, wiping away her tears and shedding them again, trembling, weakened, and taking courage once more, hurried to Monsieur de Saint-Pouange's house.
Plain English translation
Complete machine-assisted Plain English translation made independently and directly from the French, not from the Musean edition. All twenty chapters and Voltaire’s three author notes are retained; Beuchot’s editorial apparatus is omitted.
Beautiful Saint-Yves goes to Versailles.
While our unfortunate young man gained more knowledge than comfort, while his abilities, held back for so long, developed with such speed and strength, and while nature, improving within him, took revenge for fortune's insults, what happened to the prior, his good sister, and beautiful Saint-Yves in her confinement? For the first month they worried; by the third they were deep in grief. False guesses and unfounded rumors frightened them. After six months they thought he was dead. At last Monsieur and Mademoiselle de Kerkabon learned from an old letter, written to Brittany by one of the king's guards, that a young man like the Ingénu had reached Versailles one evening. He had been taken away during the night, and nobody had heard of him since.
"Oh dear!" said Mademoiselle de Kerkabon. "Our nephew must have done something foolish and got himself into trouble. He's young and from Lower Brittany. He can't know how to behave at court. Dear brother, I've never seen Versailles or Paris. Here's a fine chance. Perhaps we'll find our poor nephew. He's our brother's son, and helping him is our duty. Who knows whether we might finally manage to make him a subdeacon, once his youthful excitement has cooled? He had a real gift for learning. Do you remember how he reasoned about the Old and New Testaments? We're responsible for his soul. We're the ones who had him baptized. His dear sweetheart Saint-Yves spends her days crying. We really must go to Paris. If he's hiding in one of those wicked houses of pleasure I've heard so much about, we'll get him out." Her words moved the prior. He went to the bishop of Saint-Malo, who had baptized the Huron, to ask for his protection and advice. The bishop approved the journey. He gave the prior letters of introduction to Father de La Chaise, the king's confessor, who held the kingdom's highest office; to Harlay, archbishop of Paris; and to Bossuet, bishop of Meaux.
At last brother and sister set out. But in Paris they felt lost in an enormous maze, with no thread to guide them and no way out. They had little money. Every day they needed carriages to go looking for information, and they found nothing.
The prior went to see the Reverend Father de La Chaise. He was with Mademoiselle Du Tron and could not receive priors. He went to the archbishop's door. The bishop was shut away with beautiful Madame de Lesdiguières on Church business. He hurried to the bishop of Meaux's country house. That bishop was examining Madame Guyon's mystical love with Mademoiselle de Mauléon. Still, he managed to get a hearing from these two bishops. Both told him they could not get involved with his nephew because he was not a subdeacon.
At last he saw the Jesuit. He welcomed the prior with open arms and assured him he had always held him in special regard, although he had never known him. He swore the Society had always been devoted to Lower Bretons. "But could your nephew have the misfortune to be a Huguenot?" "Certainly not, Reverend Father." "Perhaps a Jansenist?" "I can assure Your Reverence he's hardly a Christian yet. We baptized him about eleven months ago." "Very good, very good. We'll look after him. Is your benefice a large one?" "Oh, it's very little, and our nephew costs us a great deal." "Are there any Jansenists nearby? Be very careful, dear prior. They're more dangerous than Huguenots and atheists." "Reverend Father, we have none. At Our Lady of the Mountain, nobody knows what Jansenism is." "So much the better. Go now. There's nothing I won't do for you." He sent the prior away affectionately and never thought about him again.
Time went by. The prior and his good sister were losing hope.
Meanwhile, the cursed bailiff was pushing ahead with the marriage of his great fool of a son to beautiful Saint-Yves. She had been brought out of the convent especially for it. She still loved her dear godson as much as she hated the husband offered to her. The insult of being put in a convent had made her love stronger; the order to marry the bailiff's son brought it to its height. Regret, love, and horror threw her soul into turmoil. As everyone knows, love makes a young woman much more inventive and daring than affection makes an old prior or an aunt over forty-five. Besides, the novels she had secretly read in the convent had taught her a great deal. Beautiful Saint-Yves remembered the bodyguard's letter to Lower Brittany, which people had discussed throughout the province. She decided to go to Versailles herself to make inquiries. If her husband was in prison, as people said, she would throw herself at the ministers' feet and get justice for him. Something secretly told her that at court a pretty girl is refused nothing. But she did not know the price.
Once she has decided, she feels comforted and calm. She no longer pushes her foolish suitor away. She welcomes the hateful prospective father-in-law, treats her brother lovingly, and fills the house with happiness. Then, on the day of the ceremony, she leaves secretly at four in the morning with her little wedding gifts and everything she has managed to gather. She had planned so well that she was already more than ten leagues away when they entered her room around noon. They were greatly surprised and dismayed. The questioning bailiff asked more questions that day than he had all week. The bridegroom looked more foolish than ever. Furious, the abbé de Saint-Yves decided to chase his sister. The bailiff and his son wanted to come too. So fate was bringing almost that whole district of Lower Brittany to Paris.
Beautiful Saint-Yves expected to be followed. She rode on horseback and cleverly asked couriers whether they had met a fat abbé, an enormous bailiff, and a young fool hurrying along the Paris road. On the third day she learned they were close behind. She took another route and was skillful and lucky enough to reach Versailles while they searched Paris for her in vain.
But what could she do at Versailles? Young and beautiful, unknown, with nobody to advise or support her and exposed to every danger, how could she dare look for one of the king's guards? She thought of approaching a lower-ranking Jesuit. There were Jesuits for every station in life. Just as God, they said, had given different foods to different species of animals, he had given the king his confessor, whom everyone seeking a benefice called the head of the Gallican Church. Then came the princesses' confessors. Ministers had none; they were not that foolish. There were Jesuits for the common royal household, and especially Jesuits for chambermaids, through whom their mistresses' secrets became known. That was no small job. Beautiful Saint-Yves approached one of these last, named Father Tout-à-tous. She confessed to him, explained her adventures, her situation, and her danger, and begged him to find her a room with some good devout woman who would keep her safe from temptation.
Father Tout-à-tous took her to the wife of an officer in the royal cup service, one of the penitents he trusted most. Once there, she quickly tried to win the woman's trust and friendship. She asked about the Breton guardsman and sent a request for him to visit her. He told her that her lover had been taken away after speaking to a chief clerk. She rushes to that clerk. The sight of a beautiful woman softens him, for we must admit that God created women only to tame men.
The softened pen-pusher told her everything. "Your lover has been in the Bastille for nearly a year. Without you he might stay there all his life." Loving Saint-Yves fainted. When she came to, the pen-pusher said, "I have no influence to do good. All my power amounts to doing harm now and then. Take my advice and see Monsieur de Saint-Pouange, who does both good and harm. He's Lord de Louvois's cousin and favorite. This minister has two souls: Monsieur de Saint-Pouange is one, Madame Dufresnoy the other. But she's not at Versailles just now. Your only option is to win over the protector I've named." Beautiful Saint-Yves hurried to Monsieur de Saint-Pouange, torn between a little joy and terrible grief, between some hope and sad fears, pursued by her brother, adoring her lover, wiping her tears and shedding more, trembling and weak, yet gathering courage again.
About this section
Chapter XIII is part of L’Ingénu, histoire véritable tirée des manuscrits du P. Quesnel by Voltaire. This page sets the French original beside 2 direct-source translations, so any line can be checked against the source. It is chapter 13 of 20 in the work, which is kept in the European tradition.
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