The Wandering Jew — Complete
"My son," cried Father d'Aigrigny, interrupting Gabriel, "it is useless
to recall these circumstances."
"Pardon me, father, I must recall them. I have the right to be heard. I
cannot pass over in silence any of the facts, which have led me to take
the immutable resolution that I am about to announce to you."
"Speak on, my son," said Father d'Aigrigny, frowning; for he was much
alarmed at the words of the young priest, whose cheeks, until now pale,
were covered with a deep blush.
"Six months before my departure for America," resumed Gabriel, casting
down his eyes, "you informed me, that I was destined to confess
penitents; and to prepare then for that sacred ministry, you gave me a
book."
Gabriel again hesitated. His blushes increased. Father d'Aigrigny could
scarcely restrain a start of impatience and anger.
"You gave me a book," resumed the young priest, with a great effort
to control himself, "a book containing questions to be addressed by
a confessor to youths, and young girls, and married women, when they
present themselves at the tribunal of penance. My God!" added Gabriel,
shuddering at the remembrance. "I shall never forget that awful moment.
It was night. I had retired to my chamber, taking with me this book,
composed, you told me, by one of our fathers, and completed by a holy
bishop.(18) Full of respect, faith, and confidence, I opened those
pages. At first, I did not understand them--afterwards I understood--and
then I was seized with shame and horror--struck with stupor--and had
hardly strength to close, with trembling hand, this abominable volume.
I ran to you, father, to accuse myself of having involuntarily cast my
eyes on those nameless pages, which, by mistake, you had placed in my
hands."
"Remember, also, my dear son," said Father d'Aigrigny, gravely, "that I
calmed your scruples, and told you that a priest, who is bound to
hear everything under the seal of confession, must be able to know and
appreciate everything; and that our Company imposes the task of reading
this Compendium, as a classical work, upon young deacons seminarists,
and priests, who are destined to be confessors."
"I believed you, father. In me the habit of inert obedience was so
powerful, and I was so unaccustomed to independent reflection, that,
notwithstanding my horror (with which I now reproached myself as with
a crime), I took the volume back into my chamber, and read. Oh, father!
what a dreadful revelation of criminal fancies, guilty of guiltiest in
their refinement!"
"You speak of this book in blamable terms," skid Father d'Aigrigny,
severely; "you were the victim of a too lively imagination. It is to it
that you must attribute this fatal impression, and not to an excellent
work, irreproachable for its special purpose, and duly authorized by the
Church. You are not able to judge of such a production."
"I will speak of it no more, father," said Gabriel: and he thus resumed:
"A long illness followed that terrible night. Many times, they feared
for my reason. When I recovered, the past appeared to me like a painful
dream. You told me, then, father, that I was not yet ripe for certain
functions; and it was then that I earnestly entreated you to be allowed
to go on the American missions. After having long refused my prayer,
you at length consented. From my childhood, I had always lived in the
college or seminary, to a state of continual restraint and subjection.
By constantly holding down my head and eyes, I had lost the habit of
contemplating the heavens and the splendors of nature. But, oh!
what deep, religious happiness I felt, when I found myself suddenly
transported to the centre of the imposing grandeur of the seas-half-way
between the ocean and the sky!--I seemed to come forth from a place of
thick darkness; for the first time, for many years, I felt my heart beat
freely in my bosom; for the first time, I felt myself master of my own
thoughts, and ventured to examine my past life, as from the summit of
a mountain, one looks down into a gloomy vale. Then strange doubts rose
within me. I asked myself by what right, and for what end, any beings
had so long repressed, almost annihilated, the exercise of my will, of
my liberty, of my reason, since God had endowed me with these gifts. But
I said to myself, that perhaps, one day, the great, beauteous, and holy
work, in which I was to have my share, would be revealed to me, and
would recompense my obedience and resignation."
At this moment, Rodin re-entered the room. Father d'Aigrigny questioned
him with a significant look. The socius approached, and said to him in
a low voice, so, that Gabriel could not hear: "Nothing serious. It was
only to inform me, that Marshal Simon's father is arrived at M. Hardy's
factory."
Then, glancing at Gabriel, Rodin appeared to interrogate Father
d'Aigrigny, who hung his head with a desponding air. Yet he resumed,
again addressing Gabriel, whilst Rodin took his old place, with his
elbow on the chimney-piece: "Go on, my dear son. I am anxious to learn
what resolution you have adopted."
"I will tell you in a moment, father. I arrived at Charleston. The
superior of our establishment in that place, to whom I imparted my
doubts as to the object of our Society, took upon himself to clear them
up, and unveiled it all to me with alarming frankness. He told me the
tendency not perhaps of all the members of the Company, for a great
number must have shared my ignorance--but the objects which our leaders
have pertinaciously kept in view, ever since the foundation of the
Order. I was terrified. I read the casuists. Oh, father! that was a
new and dreadful revelation, when, at every page, I read the excuse and
justification of robbery, slander, adultery, perjury, murder, regicide.
When I considered that I, the priest of a God of charity, justice,
pardon, and love, was to belong henceforth to a Company, whose chiefs
professed and glorified in such doctrines, I made a solemn oath to break
for ever the ties which bound me to it!"(19)
On these words of Gabriel, Father d'Aigrigny and Rodin exchanged a look
of terror. All was lost; their prey had escaped them. Deeply moved by
the remembrances he recalled, Gabriel did not perceive the action of
the reverend father and the socius, and thus continued: "In spite of my
resolution, father, to quit the Company, the discovery I had made was
very painful to me. Oh! believe me, for the honest and loving soul,
nothing is more frightful than to have to renounce what it has long
respected!--I suffered so much, that, when I thought of the dangers of
my mission, I hoped, with a secret joy, that God would perhaps take me
to Himself under these circumstances: but, on the contrary, He watched
over me with providential solicitude."
As he said this, Gabriel felt a thrill, for he remembered a Mysterious
Woman who had saved his life in America. After a moment's silence, he
resumed: "My mission terminated, I returned hither to beg, father, that
you would release me from my vows. Many times but in vain, I solicited
an interview. Yesterday, it pleased Providence that I should have a long
conversation with my adopted mother; from her I learned the trick by
which my vocation had been forced upon me--and the sacrilegious abuse
of the confessional, by which she had been induced to entrust to other
persons the orphans that a dying mother had confided to the care of
an honest soldier. You understand, father, that, if even I had before
hesitated to break these bonds, what I have heard yesterday must have
rendered my decision irrevocable. But at this solemn moment, father,
I am bound to tell you, that I do not accuse the whole Society; many
simple, credulous, and confiding men, like myself, must no doubt form
part of it. Docile instruments, they see not in their blindness the work
to which they are destined. I pity them, and pray God to enlighten them,
as he has enlightened me."
"So, my son," said Father d'Aigrigny, rising with livid and despairing
look, "you come to ask of me to break the ties which attach you to the
Society?"
"Yes, father; you received my vows--it is for you to release me from
them."
"So, my son, you understand that engagements once freely taken by you,
are now to be considered as null and void?"
"Yes, father."
"So, my son, there is to be henceforth nothing in common between you and
our Company?"
"No, father--since I request you to absolve me of my vows."
"But, you know, my son, that the Society may release you--but that you
cannot release yourself."
"The step I take proves to you, father, the importance I attach to an
oath, since I come to you to release me from it. Nevertheless, were
you to refuse me, I should not think myself bound in the eyes of God or
man."
"It is perfectly clear," said Father d'Aigrigny to Rodin, his voice
expiring upon his lips, so deep was his despair.
Suddenly, whilst Gabriel, with downcast eyes, waited for the answer
of Father d'Aigrigny, who remained mute and motionless, Rodin appeared
struck with a new idea, on perceiving that the reverend father still
held in his hand the note written in pencil. The socius hastily
approached Father d'Aigrigny, and said to him in a whisper, with a look
of doubt and alarm: "Have you not read my note?"
"I did not think of it," answered the reverend father, mechanically.
Rodin appeared to make a great effort to repress a movement of violent
rage. Then he said to Father d'Aigrigny, in a calm voice: "Read it now."
Hardly had the reverend father cast his eyes upon this note, than
a sudden ray of hope illumined his hitherto despairing countenance.
Pressing the hand of the socius with an expression of deep gratitude, he
said to him in a low voice: "You are right. Gabriel is ours."
(16) The statutes formally state that the Company can expel all drones
and wasps, but that no man can break his ties, if the Order wishes to
retain him.
(17) This is their own command. The constitution expressly bids the
novice wait for this decisive climax of the ordeal before taking the
vows of God.
(18) It is impossible, even in Latin, to give our readers an idea of
this infamous work.
(19) This is true. See the extracts from the Compendium for the use of
Schools, published under the title of "Discoveries by a Bibliophilist."
Strasburg, 1843. For regicide, see Sanchez and others.
CHAPTER XXI. THE CHANGE.
Before again addressing Gabriel, Father d'Aigrigny carefully reflected;
and his countenance, lately so disturbed, became gradually once more
serene. He appeared to meditate and calculate the effects of the
eloquence he was about to employ, upon an excellent and safe theme,
which the socius struck with the danger of the situation, had suggested
in a few lines rapidly written with a pencil, and which, in his despair,
the reverend father had at first neglected. Rodin resumed his post of
observation near the mantelpiece, on which he leaned his elbow,
after casting at Father d'Aigrigny a glance of disdainful and angry
superiority, accompanied by a significant shrug of the shoulders.
After this involuntary manifestation, which was luckily not perceived
by Father d'Aigrigny, the cadaverous face of the socius resumed its
icy calmness, and his flabby eyelids, raised a moment with anger and
impatience, fell, and half-veiled his little, dull eyes. It must be
confessed that Father d'Aigrigny, notwithstanding the ease and elegance
of his speech, notwithstanding the seduction of his exquisite manners,
his agreeable features, and the exterior of an accomplished and refined
man of the world, was often subdued and governed by the unpitying
firmness, the diabolical craft and depth of Rodin, the old, repulsive,
dirty, miserably dressed man, who seldom abandoned his humble part of