The Wandering Jew — Complete
believe me so desirous, I resign it to you formally, father, as I once
freely promised. My only wish is, that this property may be employed
for the relief of the poor. I do not know what may be the amount of this
fortune, but large or small, it belongs to the Company, because I have
thereto pledged my word. I have told you, father, that my chief
desire is to obtain a humble curacy in some poor village--poor, above
all--because there my services will be most useful. Thus, father, when a
man, who never spoke falsehood in his life, affirms to you, that he only
sighs for so humble an existence, you ought, I think, to believe him
incapable of snatching back, from motives of avarice, gifts already
made."
Father d'Aigrigny had now as much trouble to restrain his joy, as he
before had to conceal his terror. He appeared, however, tolerably calm,
and said to Gabriel: "I did not expect less from you, my dear son."
Then he made a sign to Rodin, to invite him to interpose. The latter
perfectly understood his superior. He left the chimney, drew near
to Gabriel, and leaned against the table, upon which stood paper and
inkstand. Then, beginning mechanically to beat the tattoo with the tips
of his coarse fingers, in all their array of flat and dirty nails, he
said to Father d'Aigrigny: "All this is very fine! but your dear son
gives you no security for the fulfilment of his promise except an
oath--and that, we know, is of little value."
"Sir!" cried Gabriel
"Allow me," said Rodin, coldly. "The law does not acknowledge our
existence and therefore can take no cognizance of donations made in
favor of the Company. You might resume to-morrow what you are pleased to
give us to-day."
"But my oath, sir!" cried Gabriel.
Rodin looked at him fixedly, as he answered: "Your oath? Did you not
swear eternal obedience to the Company, and never to separate from
us?--and of what weight now are these oaths?"
For a moment Gabriel was embarrassed; but, feeling how false was this
logic, he rose, calm and dignified, went to seat himself at the desk,
took up a pen, and wrote as follows:
"Before God, who sees and hears me, and in the presence of you, Father
d'Aigrigny and M. Rodin, I renew and confirm, freely and voluntarily,
the absolute donation made by me to the Society of Jesus, in the person
of the said Father d'Aigrigny, of all the property which may hereafter
belong to me, whatever may be its value. I swear, on pain of infamy, to
perform tis irrevocable promise, whose accomplishment I regard, in my
soul and conscience, as the discharge of a debt, and the fulfilment of a
pious duty.
"This donation having for its object the acknowledgment of past
services, and the relief of the poor, no future occurrences can at
all modify it. For the very reason that I know I could one day legally
cancel the present free and deliberate act, I declare, that if ever I
were to attempt such a thing, under any possible circumstances, I should
deserve the contempt and horror of all honest people.
"In witness whereof I have written this paper, on the 13th of February,
1832, in Paris, immediately before the opening of the testament of one
of my paternal ancestors.
"GABRIEL DE RENNEPONT."
As he rose, the young priest delivered this document to Rodin, without
uttering a word. The socius read it attentively, and, still impassible,
answered, as he looked at Gabriel: "Well, it is a written oath--that is
all."
Gabriel dwelt stupefied at the audacity of Rodin, who ventured to tell
him, that this document, in which he renewed his donation in so noble,
generous, and spontaneous a manner, was not all sufficient. The
socius was the first again to break the silence, and he said to Father
d'Aigrigny, with his usual cool impudence. "One of two things must be.
Either your dear son means to render his donation absolutely valuable
and irrevocable,--or--"
"Sir," exclaimed Gabriel, interrupting him, and hardly able to restrain
himself, "spare yourself and me such a shameful supposition."
"Well, then," resumed Rodin, impassible as ever, "as you are perfectly
decided to make this donation a serious reality, what objection can you
have to secure it legally?"
"None, sir," said Gabriel, bitterly, "since my written and sworn promise
will not suffice you."
"My dear son," said Father d'Aigrigny, affectionately, "if this were
a donation for my own advantage, believe me I should require no better
security than your word. But here I am, as it were, the agent of the
Society, or rather the trustee of the poor, who will profit by your
generosity. For the sake of humanity, therefore, we cannot secure this
gift by too many legal precautions, so that the unfortunate objects of
our care may have certainty instead of vague hopes to depend upon. God
may call you to him at any moment, and who shall say that your heirs
will be so ready to keep the oath you have taken?"
"You are right, father," said Gabriel, sadly; "I had not thought of the
case of death, which is yet so probable."
Hereupon, Samuel opened the door of the room, and said: "Gentlemen, the
notary has just arrived. Shall I show him in? At ten o'clock precisely,
the door of the house will be opened."
"We are the more glad to see the notary," said Rodin, "as we just happen
to have some business with him. Pray ask him to walk in."
"I will bring him to you instantly," replied Samuel, as he went out.
"Here is a notary," said Rodin to Gabriel. "If you have still the same
intentions, you can legalize your donation in presence of this public
officer, and thus save yourself from a great burden for the future."
"Sir," said Gabriel, "happen what may, I am as irrevocably engaged by
this written promise, which I beg you to keep, father"--and he handed
the paper to Father d'Aigrigny "as by the legal document, which I am
about to sign," he added, turning to Rodin.
"Silence, my dear son," said Father d'Aigrigny; "here is the notary,"
just as the latter entered the room.
During the interview of the administrative officer with Rodin, Gabriel,
and Father d'Aigrigny, we shall conduct the reader to the interior of
the walled-up house.
CHAPTER XXII. THE RED ROOM.
As Samuel had said, the door of the walled-up house had just been
disencumbered of the bricks, lead, and iron, which had kept it from
view, and its panels of carved oak appeared as fresh and sound, as on
the day when they had first been withdrawn from the influence of the air
and time. The laborers, having completed their work, stood waiting
upon the steps, as impatient and curious as the notary's clerk, who
had superintended the operation, when they saw Samuel slowly advancing
across the garden, with a great bunch of keys in his hand.
"Now, my friends," said the old man, when he had reached the steps,
"your work is finished. The master of this gentleman will pay you, and I
have only to show you out by the street door."
"Come, come, my good fellow," cried the clerk, "you don't think. We
are just at the most interesting and curious moment; I and these honest
masons are burning to see the interior of this mysterious house, and you
would be cruel enough to send us away? Impossible!"
"I regret the necessity, sir, but so it must he. I must be the first to
enter this dwelling, absolutely alone, before introducing the heirs, in
order to read the testament."
"And who gave you such ridiculous and barbarous orders?" cried the
clerk, singularly disappointed.
"My father, sir."
"A most respectable authority, no doubt; but come, my worthy guardian,
my excellent guardian," resumed the clerk, "be a good fellow, and let us
just take a peep in at the door."
"Yes, yes, sir, only a peep!" cried the heroes of the trowel, with a
supplicating air.
"It is disagreeable to have to refuse you, gentlemen," answered Samuel;
"but I cannot open this door, until I am alone."
The masons, seeing the inflexibility of the old man, unwillingly
descended the steps; but the clerk had resolved to dispute the ground
inch by inch, and exclaimed: "I shall wait for my master. I do not leave
the house without him. He may want me--and whether I remain on these
steps or elsewhere, can be of little consequence to you my worthy
keeper."
The clerk was interrupted in his appeal by his master himself, who
called out from the further side of the courtyard, with an air of
business: "M. Piston! quick, M. Piston--come directly!"
"What the devil does he want with me?" cried the clerk, in a passion.
"He calls me just at the moment when I might have seen something."
"M. Piston," resumed the voice, approaching, "do you not hear?"
While Samuel let out the masons, the clerk saw, through a clump of
trees, his master running towards him bareheaded, and with an air of
singular haste and importance. The clerk was therefore obliged to leave
the steps, to answer the notary's summons, towards whom he went with a
very bad grace.
"Sir, sir," said M. Dumesnil, "I have been calling you this hour with
all my might."
"I did not hear you sir," said M. Piston.
"You must be deaf, then. Have you any change about you?"
"Yes sir," answered the clerk, with some surprise.
"Well, then, you must go instantly to the nearest stamp-office, and
fetch me three or four large sheets of stamped paper, to draw up a deed.
Run! it is wanted directly."
"Yes, sir," said the clerk, casting a rueful and regretful glance at the
door of the walled-up house.
"But make haste, will you, M. Piston," said the notary.
"I do not know, sir, where to get any stamped paper."
"Here is the guardian," replied M. Dumesnil. "He will no doubt be able
to tell you."
At this instant, Samuel was returning, after showing the masons out by
the street-door.
"Sir," said the notary to him, "will you please to tell me where we can
get stamped paper?"
"Close by, sir," answered Samuel; "in the tobacconist's, No. 17, Rue
Vieille-du-Temple."
"You hear, M. Piston?" said the notary to his clerk. "You can get the
stamps at the tobacconist's, No. 17, Rue Vieille-du-Temple. Be quick!
for this deed must be executed immediately before the opening of the
will. Time presses."
"Very well, sir; I will make haste," answered the clerk, discontentedly,
as he followed his master, who hurried back into the room where he had
left Rodin, Gabriel, and Father d'Aigrigny.
During this time, Samuel, ascending the steps, had reached the door,
now disencumbered of the stone, iron, and lead with which it had been
blocked up. It was with deep emotion that the old man having selected
from his bunch of keys the one he wanted, inserted it in the keyhole,
and made the door turn upon its hinges. Immediately he felt on his
face a current of damp, cold air, like that which exhales from a cellar
suddenly opened. Having carefully re-closed and double-locked the door,
the Jew advanced along the hall, lighted by a glass trefoil over the
arch of the door. The panes had lost their transparency by the effect of
time, and now had the appearance of ground-glass. This hall, paved with
alternate squares of black and white marble, was vast, sonorous, and
contained a broad staircase leading to the first story. The walls of
smooth stone offered not the least appearance of decay or dampness; the
stair-rail of wrought iron presented no traces of rust; it was inserted,
just above the bottom step, into a column of gray granite, which
sustained a statue of black marble, representing a negro bearing a
flambeau. This statue had a strange countenance, the pupils of the eyes
being made of white marble.
The Jew's heavy tread echoed beneath the lofty dome of the hall.
The grandson of Isaac Samuel experienced a melancholy feeling, as he
reflected that the footsteps of his ancestor had probably been the last