4 In France, the Fête Dieu, a religious celebration marked by the procession of the Eucharist through the streets for the adoration of the faithful.
The Red and the Black
he might meet her again, since her café was not far away. As he approached the cathedral, he could see Father Chas-Bernard in the distance, in the doorway. He was a fat man with a joyous face and a straightforward look. Right now, he seemed triumphant. "I've been waiting for you, my dear son," he cried when he saw Julien coming. "You're most welcome. Our task, today, will be long and trying, so let us fortify ourselves with an early breakfast. We'll have another at ten, during high mass." "It is my wish, sir," Julien said gravely, "not to be alone for an instant. Be so good as to note," he added, pointing toward the cathedral clock above their heads, "that I've come at one minute to five." "Ah! Those naughty fellows at the seminary have made you afraid! It's very decent of you to remember them," said Father Chas. "Is a road less lovely because there are thorns in the hedges alongside it? Travelers go their way and let the nasty thorns wither where they are. For the rest, to work, my dear friend, to work!" Father Chas had been right when he'd said the work would be trying. The previous night the cathedral had been the site of a large funeral; nothing could be put in readiness for Corpus Christi. It was thus necessary, in just one morning, to wrap every one of the Gothic pillars, along the three main aisles, in a kind of cloak of red damask, thirty feet high. The bishop had brought in, by mail coach, four Parisian decorators, but these gentlemen could not take care of everything—and rather than encourage their local helpers, less experienced and a good deal clumsier, they made matters worse by laughing at them. Julien realized he'd have to go up the ladders himself; his nimbleness clearly came in handy. He took charge of the local decorators. Father Chas, delighted, watched him flying from one ladder to the next. Once all the pillars were wrapped in damask, huge feather clusters, five in all, had to be set above the main altar canopy. It was a rich, crowning work, in gilded wood, supported by eight great columns of Italian marble, spiraling from top to bottom. But to reach the center of the canopy, it was necessary to walk along an ancient wooden cornice, which was perhaps worm-eaten but was certainly forty feet high. Seeing this risky road, the Parisian decorators lost their merry brightness. They stood looking up at it, saying a great deal and staying right where they were. Julien snatched the feather clusters and fairly ran up the ladder. He shaped the clusters like a beautiful crown, directly in the center of the canopy. When he came down the ladder, Father Chas threw his arms around him. "Optime, superb," cried the good priest. "I'll tell the bishop about this." Their ten o'clock breakfast was a very happy one. Father Chas had never seen his church so lovely. "My dear disciple," he told Julien, "my mother used to do the chair rentals in this venerable basilica, so in a sense I was nurtured in this splendid edifice. Robespierre's Terror5 ruined us, but at the age of eight, which I then was, I was already assisting at private masses, and on those days I was fed. No one was better at folding a chasuble: the gold braid never got frayed. Ever since Napoleon reestablished holy services, I have had the good fortune to run everything, here in this ancient cathedral. Five times every year, my eyes see it adorned with such wonderfully beautiful ornamentation. But it has never been so resplendent—the widths of damask have never been so well tied as they have been today; never have they been so well fitted to the pillars." "Finally," thought Julien, "he's going to tell me his secret. He's telling me about himself, it's pouring out of him. But even though he's obviously excited, he hasn't spoken a careless