On the Way

That evening, at almost seven o'clock, the stagecoach arrived in Avignon. The journey from Marseille to Paris covered more than two hundred leagues, nearly three hundred (a traditional French unit of distance; one league was about four kilometers), so a stagecoach obviously couldn't make it in a short time. In fact, there wasn't even a direct stagecoach from Marseille to Paris. Passengers traveling to Paris usually changed coaches again and again, one leg at a time.

At dusk, the stagecoach passed through Avignon's towering city walls and entered the ancient city. After stepping down, Joseph looked up and saw the Palace of the Popes perched high on a hill, shrouded in the fading light. Avignon had been the seat of the Catholic popes for a long time. Though the pope had returned to the Vatican long ago, the city was still a territory directly governed by the Holy See. This special status would not change until the Revolution broke out.

"That's the Palace of the Popes," Father Alfonso explained as he saw Joseph gazing in that direction. "Though His Holiness the Pope no longer lives here, it remains a holy place."

"Can I go inside and have a look?" Joseph asked.

"Ah, child, I'm afraid not. That's not a place just anyone can enter," Father Alfonso replied. "As a messenger of the Church, I've traveled between Marseille and Paris many times, and I pass through here every time, but all I can do is gaze at this sacred palace from afar. Well, Bishop Minier has been inside. If you're interested in what it's like, you can ask the bishop yourself someday."

Joseph shook his head. "I don't need to ask the bishop. I think I'll be able to go inside myself someday."

Hearing this, Alfonso assumed he meant he could become a bishop too, and smiled. "That's what His Lordship the Bishop hopes for you as well."

But that wasn't what Joseph really meant. He knew the Revolution would break out in a few years. During the Revolution, especially under Robespierre, Catholicism would be knocked to the ground and trampled under ten thousand feet. Nearly every church would be confiscated and turned into a so-called Cult of Reason temple. The holy images inside would be replaced with busts or full-length statues of revolutionary leaders and heroes from history. A bastion of reactionary forces like the Palace of the Popes would be no exception. By then, it would be easy as pie to go inside and have a look.

Avignon was still a territory directly governed by the Holy See. Since Jesus had once driven the merchants doing business in the Temple of Jehovah out of the temple, commerce in Avignon was much less conspicuous than in other towns of a similar size. There were no merchants loudly hawking their wares in the streets. Of the people walking around, some wore black robes, while most were devout pilgrims.

Of course, Joseph understood that this was only a facade. When it came to greed for money and doing business, few institutions in the world could rival the Roman Church. After all, they had invented indulgences and could sell a poultry feather as an angel's feather. But on the surface, they still had to put on an air of holiness.

After getting off the coach, the passengers exchanged friendly farewells. Joseph followed Father Alfonso along the street for a little over a hundred fathoms (an old French unit of length, about 1.624 meters) until they reached the black, imposing gate of a monastery. Father Alfonso didn't go straight to it, though. He turned right and stopped beside a smaller black door, then raised his hand and gently knocked.

The small door didn't open. Instead, a little window with an iron grille was set into it. The window slid open, and an eye appeared in the opening.

"I'm a messenger sent to Paris by Bishop Minier of the Corsican diocese. We need a place to stay for the night. This is the bishop's godson, and he'll be traveling to Paris with me," Father Alfonso said, handing over a document.

The eye looked at Alfonso, then at Joseph. A hand appeared in the window and took the document, then the little window in the door closed.

After a while, with a creak, the little door opened, its hinges seemingly rusted through. A hulking man stood there in a black priest's robe, a hood hiding most of his face. Bent over in the dark passageway, he silently returned the document to Alfonso, then stepped aside. The movement drew Joseph's attention to one leg, which seemed to be a little lame.

Alfonso led Joseph inside. The hulking man shut the door again and slid the bolt into place, then reached up and took a lantern from the wall. Carrying it, he led the way.

The monastery had no windows facing the street, and the windows overlooking the inner courtyard were tiny. Even in daytime, the passageway would have been very dark; now it felt all the more gloomy and deathly still. Only the lantern's light and the shadow of the limping giant ahead of them flickered wildly.

For some inexplicable reason, the scene reminded Joseph of the dark underground passageways beneath the Cathedral of Zakarum in the game Diablo. The hulking man stumbling along ahead also made him think of the "Dark Wanderer." Joseph couldn't help glancing warily from side to side, afraid a red Fallen—or a whole pack of them carrying little torches—might suddenly leap out from somewhere.

But the world Joseph had crossed into was a normal one after all. In the long, dark passageway, the only things that suddenly appeared were rats, not monsters. And the hulking man in front was merely a taciturn doorkeeper. No mysterious blaze sprang up in his wake, either.

After walking a little farther, the doorkeeper stopped, pulled a ring of keys from his belt, and unlocked a small door beside the passage. Then he turned around and spoke in a low, halting voice. "You... tonight... here."

He raised the lantern, ducked his head, and went inside. Alfonso followed with Joseph. By then, the hulking man had lit the candle on a stand in the middle of the room. A dim yellow glow immediately spread through the space.

Once the candle was lit, the doorkeeper stood up and went out. As he left, he ducked his head beneath the low doorway again. In the light of the candle and the lantern in his hand, Joseph saw a long scar across his face.

Perhaps noticing Joseph's gaze, Alfonso sat down at the table after the doorkeeper had left and said, "He used to be a captain in His Majesty the King's army. He was wounded in the Seven Years' War, and after retiring he couldn't find work. Eventually, he came here to serve as a doorkeeper."

Then he sighed. "Life gets harder with every passing day. Even the able-bodied struggle to get by, let alone a man like him. Fortunately, the Church doesn't forget those who fought for the Catholic faith. God will watch over him too. Amen."

"Amen," Joseph echoed.

The next day, just after dawn, Joseph and Alfonso left the monastery and bought two tickets for the stagecoach to Les Tours. As soon as they boarded, they heard a surprised voice say, "Brother Alfonso? Little Joseph?"

They turned and saw that the young couple they'd met the day before were already seated in the coach.

"Oh, it's you two! Are you going to Les Tours as well?" Alfonso asked.

"Ah, we're going to Lyon," the husband replied cheerfully. "I found a job at a school there."

"Sounds like a pretty good job," Alfonso said.

"Thank you," the husband replied.

The group began chatting, seemingly having forgotten all about the argument on the coach the previous day. But when they reached Lyon and parted ways with the couple, Alfonso remarked to Joseph, "It's astonishing that that apostate's influence is so great."

"What apostate?" Joseph asked.

"That Voltaire, who was dragged off by the devil last year and tumbled headfirst into hell," Alfonso replied in a rare, spiteful tone. "That damned apostate supposedly spewed blasphemies even as he lay dying. He said he wanted to be buried with half his body in the church and half outside. That way, if by some stroke of luck he made it to heaven, he could go up through the half inside the church; and if—though it wasn't really an if, but a certainty—he was condemned to hell, he could escape through the half outside. Ha! Where could he run that would take him beyond the grasp of the eternal God? He must be nice and warm in that fiery pit now. Hahahaha..."

"But Mr. Grégoire didn't mention Voltaire just now," Joseph asked. "And what he said didn't seem especially unreasonable."

"You're right," Alfonso said. "He didn't mention that apostate directly. But many of his views—the ones you thought weren't unreasonable, even the ones that seemed very sensible—actually came from that apostate. Joseph, you must be careful. That's what makes the devil so terrifying.

"The devil never shows people his true face. On the contrary, he disguises himself as a prophet or a saint, using his seemingly dazzling 'truths' to tempt you and lead you astray. That's what makes apostates, devils, false prophets, and the Antichrist so terrifying and dangerous. Child, you must know that Lucifer, the demon king, was once the brightest archangel at God's side. He too shone with a light capable of deceiving people. So if we don't put our faith in the Church, it's easy for them to deceive us. May God punish them. Amen!"