Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 12: Only a devil could write such words! (Seeking monthly votes at the beginning of the month)

On the morning of January 10, 1879, Paris was as busy as it had been on countless other mornings.

As the sunlight parted the thick morning fog, a mixture of water vapor and coal ash, bringing warmth and comfort to the city's residents, Bishop Guillem Merme de Boan, president of the Paris Book Society and head of the Archdiocese of Paris, was leisurely enjoying his post-mortem relaxation on the toilet in the bathroom of his opulent office in Notre Dame Cathedral.

This toilet is a high-end product that was custom-made in England last month. It is not only inlaid with ivory and silver ornaments, but the seat is also covered with fine fur from Russia, making it perfect for use in such a cold season.

In the summer, the toilet seat can be replaced with soft, breathable, silky silk to ensure that his delicate bottom won't be pricked by any tiny splinters.

On the wall within his reach was a gilded shelf, on which lay a stack of recent tabloids collected by the priests.

Of course, Bishop Gilbert did not intend to tarnish his prestigious reputation with these newspapers—as a renowned gourmet in Parisian social circles, Gilbert valued more than just the pleasures of the palate.

He followed the long-standing tradition of the French royal family, placing a cage outside the toilet containing a well-trained, pure white goose. Whenever he rang a bell, a male servant would bring the cage inside.

Then he can pull the goose by the neck to perform the cleaning process.

This way, you can experience extraordinary pleasure, with the softness of down and the warmth of a goose.

Rabelais once praised this as the noblest, most perfect, and most convenient way to wipe one's bottom in "Gargantua and Pantagruel"!
So these tabloids were purely entertainment during toilet breaks—of course, as the president of the "Paris Book Society," an upright gentleman who hated all bad works, and the proposer of the "Law Prohibiting the Dissemination of Immoral Media," Bishop Gilbert viewed these obscene publications with a critical eye.

"Hehehe...hehehe...haha..." Cheerful laughter could be faintly heard from behind the tightly closed toilet door. Andrei, the male servant who was guarding the cage outside the door, also smiled. It seemed that His Excellency the Bishop had a good day.

Bishop Gibert, in the toilet, put the Lantern newspaper aside; he had just been amused by a joke in it.

A village woman asked the priest curiously, "Aren't you lonely, being a celibate?"

The priest smiled and said, "The Holy Mother is with me!"

The village woman retorted, "No wonder your bed creaks every night."

"Well written!" Bishop Gibel recalled the happy times he had in his youth in the rural diocese, when he was a friend of the women in the nearby villages—especially after His Majesty the Emperor had suffered so many defeats, resulting in the deaths of hundreds of thousands of young men outside.

After becoming a bishop in Paris, his opportunities for pleasure actually decreased. Although he still had several mistresses, it was mostly, well, for social needs…

In a good mood, Bishop Gibel decided to let the Lantern newspaper off the hook for now and not bother the Public Morality Committee for the time being.

Then he pulled out Le Bourgeois, whose owner, Gabriel, was a sly man who often delayed paying his penitent money to the Paris Book Society... but Le Bourgeois was always the most interesting.

For a while, it was banned for two weeks, making my time in the toilet incredibly boring.

Today's edition of *The Buzz* seems a bit different? It even has a lead-in on the front page—

[An honest Parisian recently traveled to the provinces and heard many anecdotes in the countryside. He recorded them and submitted them to this newspaper for the amusement of gentlemen and ladies. This newspaper believes that although these little stories are absurd, they have a certain charm and can also serve as a warning to the world to guide their words and deeds with high moral standards, so as not to become fodder for villagers' gossip. Therefore, we have spared no space to publish them in full in the supplement "Interesting Stories".] "An honest Parisian"? Is this Gabriel's new pen name? He does this often, which is why he has been able to escape punishment time and time again.

As for his so-called "noble moral guidance in speech and conduct," that was merely a cover-up, and Bishop Gibel naturally scoffed at it.

However, his interest was clearly piqued, so he stopped browsing the sex scandal on the front page and went straight to the "Interesting Stories" section on the side page.

A kind Burgundian farmer told me that last spring he needed to fertilize his wheat field, so he went to a nearby monastery hoping to buy some manure. The priest in charge of the business received him and asked for the exorbitant price of 2 francs per cartload. The farmer exclaimed, "Good heavens, sir, that's double the official price!" The priest replied, "Our manure is different from others; it's compacted by our brothers, and one cartload, when soaked, is equivalent to two!"

Bishop Gibel was puzzled when he first read it. What did it mean? What did "driving the piles firmly" mean? He had never heard of any monastery offering this service.

But before he could finish reading it a second time, he realized what was happening. He froze, his facial muscles and fingers trembling uncontrollably, even his voice shaking: "How dare he... how dare he..."

Although the theme of priests having affairs has been depicted in literature since the Middle Ages, with the famous Decameron going to great lengths to portray it, very few people have dared to touch on this subject matter for centuries.

Bishop Gibel felt all the blood rush to his head, the veins on his forehead bulging, but his eyes couldn't help but look down—

On the road, I met a devout Orleans textile worker leading his young son toward the local monastery, presumably to send the child to study the sacred doctrines. On the way, the child let out a loud fart, and the simple worker suddenly burst into tears. Curious, I asked, "Farting is a normal thing, why cry so bitterly?" He replied, "How can I not be sad when I think that this child will never be able to fart so loudly again?"

Bishop Gibel didn't need to read this a second time; the color drained from his face, turning him deathly pale, but his eyes bulged as if they would pop out of their sockets: "Devil! Devil! Only a real devil would write such words!"

The third one was very short; even though he tried to resist the urge to read on, it had already entered his field of vision—

[During my travels in the countryside of Brittany, I was accompanied for a part of the journey by a priest and his young priest. Halfway through the journey, the priest went to relieve himself in the woods by the roadside, but accidentally sat on a sapling and cried out in pain. The young priest, however, made the sign of the cross: "God, is this your retribution?"]

Bishop Gibel momentarily forgot he was still sitting on the toilet, stood up, and tried to walk forward...

The bishop's male servant, Andrei, heard a scream of anger and pain coming from the toilet, along with the sound of something being knocked over. Without thinking, he quickly opened the door and went in.

The scene before him was unforgettable for him:
The esteemed Bishop Gilbert Guillaume Merme de Beauan, with his large rear end prostrate on the ground, gushed blood like a small fountain from which the expensive fur cushions were stained.

Andrei panicked: "Sir, your hemorrhoids..."

Bishop Gibert could no longer hear what Andre was saying, only shouting, "I'm going to take this to the Vatican! I'm going to take this to the Vatican!"

With each shout, the "fountain" grew thicker and higher...

(Seeking votes at the beginning of the month!)

(End of this chapter)