The Wandering Jew — Complete
inquiring eye, as though he had asked for hopes or inspirations from
them, Rodin had come so close that, still standing, with his right arm
bent behind his head, he rested, as it were, against the wall, whilst,
hiding his left hand in the pocket of his black trousers, he thus held
back one of the flaps of his olive great-coat. For some minutes, he
remained in this meditative attitude.
Rodin, as we have said, came seldom to this lodging; according to the
rules of his Order, he had till now lived with Father d'Aigrigny,
whom he was specially charged to watch. No member of the Society,
particularly in the subaltern position which Rodin had hitherto held,
could either shut himself in, or possess an article of furniture made
to lock. By this means nothing interferes with the mutual spy-system,
incessantly carried on, which forms one of the most powerful resources
of the Company of Jesus. It was on account of certain combinations,
purely personal to himself, though connected on some points with the
interests of the Order, that Rodin, unknown to all, had taken these
rooms in the Rue Clovis. And it was from the depths of this obscure
den that the socius corresponded directly with the most eminent and
influential personages of the sacred college. On one occasion, when
Rodin wrote to Rome, that Father d'Aigrigny, having received orders to
quit France without seeing his dying mother, had hesitated to set out,
the socius had added, in form of postscriptum, at the bottom of the
letter denouncing to the General of the Order the hesitation of Father
d'Aigrigny:
"Tell the Prince Cardinal that he may rely upon me, but I hope for his
active aid in return."
This familiar manner of corresponding with the most powerful dignitary
of the Order, the almost patronizing tone of the recommendation
that Rodin addressed to the Prince Cardinal, proved that the socius,
notwithstanding his apparently subaltern position, was looked upon, at
that epoch, as a very important personage, by many of the Princes of the
Church, who wrote to him at Paris under a false name, making use of a
cipher and other customary precautions. After some moments passed in
contemplation, before the portrait of Sixtus V., Rodin returned slowly
to the table, on which lay the letter, which, by a sort of superstitious
delay, he had deferred opening, notwithstanding his extreme curiosity.
As it still wanted some minutes of half-past nine, Rodin, in order not
to lose time, set about making preparations for his frugal breakfast.
He placed on the table, by the side of an inkstand, furnished with pens,
the slice of bread and the radish; then seating himself on his stool,
with the stove, as it were, between his legs, he drew a horn-handled
knife from his pocket, and cutting alternately a morsel of bread and a
morsel of radish, with a sharp, well-worn blade, he began his temperate
repast with a vigorous appetite, keeping his eye fixed on the hand of
his watch. When it reached the momentous hour, he unsealed the envelope
with a trembling hand.
It contained two letters. The first appeared to give him little
satisfaction; for, after some minutes, he shrugged his shoulders, struck
the table impatiently with the handle of his knife, disdainfully pushed
aside the letter with the back of his dirty hand, and perused the second
epistle, holding his bread in one hand, and with the other mechanically
dipping a slice of radish into the gray salt spilt on a corner of the
table. Suddenly, Rodin's hand remained motionless. As he progressed
in his reading, he appeared more and more interested, surprised, and
struck. Rising abruptly, he ran to the window, as if to assure himself,
by a second examination of the cipher, that he was not deceived. The
news announced to him in the letter seemed to be unexpected. No doubt,
Rodin found that he had deciphered correctly, for, letting fall his
arms, not in dejection, but with the stupor of a satisfaction as
unforeseen as extraordinary, he remained for some time with his head
down, and his eyes fixed--the only mark of joy that he gave being
manifested by a loud, frequent, and prolonged respiration. Men who are
as audacious in their ambition, as they are patient and obstinate in
their mining and countermining, are surprised at their own success, when
this latter precedes and surpasses their wise and prudent expectations.
Rodin was now in this case. Thanks to prodigies of craft, address, and
dissimulation, thanks to mighty promises of corruption, thanks to the
singular mixture of admiration, fear, and confidence, with which his
genius inspired many influential persons, Rodin now learned from members
of the pontifical government, that, in case of a possible and probable
occurrence, he might, within a given time, aspire, with a good chance of
success, to a position which has too often excited the fear, the hate,
or the envy of many sovereigns, and which has in turn, been occupied by
great, good men, by abominable scoundrels, and by persons risen from
the lowest grades of society. But for Rodin to attain this end with
certainty, it was absolutely necessary for him to succeed in that
project, which he had undertaken to accomplish without violence, and
only by the play and the rebound of passions skillfully managed. The
project was: To secure for the Society of Jesus the fortune of the
Rennepont family.
This possession would thus have a double and immense result; for Rodin,
acting in accordance with his personal views, intended to make of his
Order (whose chief was at his discretion) a stepping-stone and a means
of intimidation. When his first impression of surprise had passed
away--an impression that was only a sort of modesty of ambition and
self diffidence, not uncommon with men of really superior powers--Rodin
looked more coldly and logically on the matter, and almost reproached
himself for his surprise. But soon after, by a singular contradiction,
yielding to one of those puerile and absurd ideas, by which men are
often carried away when they think themselves alone and unobserved,
Rodin rose abruptly, took the letter which had caused him such glad
surprise, and went to display it, as it were, before the eyes of the
young swineherd in the picture: then, shaking his head proudly and
triumphantly, casting his reptile-glance on the portrait, he muttered
between his teeth, as he placed his dirty finger on the pontifical
emblem: "Eh, brother? and I also--perhaps!"
After this ridiculous interpolation, Rodin returned to his seat, and,
as if the happy news he had just received had increased his appetite, he
placed the letter before him, to read it once more, whilst he exercised
his teeth, with a sort of joyous fury, on his hard bread and radish,
chanting an old Litany.
There was something strange, great, and, above all, frightful, in the
contrast afforded by this immense ambition, already almost justified
by events, and contained, as it were, in so miserable an abode. Father
d'Aigrigny (who, if not a very superior man, had at least some real
value, was a person of high birth, very haughty, and placed in the best
society) would never have ventured to aspire to what Rodin thus looked
to from the first. The only aim of Father d'Aigrigny, and even this
he thought presumptuous, was to be one day elected General of his
Order--that Order which embraced the world. The difference of the
ambitious aptitudes of these two personages is conceivable. When a man
of eminent abilities, of a healthy and vivacious nature, concentrates
all the strength of his mind and body upon a single point, remaining,
like Rodin, obstinately chaste and frugal, and renouncing every
gratification of the heart and the senses--the man, who revolts against
the sacred designs of his Creator, does so almost always in favor of
some monstrous and devouring passion--some infernal divinity, which,
by a sacrilegious pact, asks of him, in return for the bestowal of
formidable power, the destruction of every noble sentiment, and of all
those ineffable attractions and tender instincts with which the Maker,
in His eternal wisdom and inexhaustible munificence, has so paternally
endowed His creatures.
During the scene that we have just described, Rodin had not perceived
that the curtain of a window on the third story of the building opposite
had been partially drawn aside, and had half-revealed the sprightly face
of Rose-Pompon, and the Silenus-like countenance of Ninny Moulin.
It ensued that Rodin, notwithstanding his barricade of cotton
handkerchiefs, had not been completely sheltered from the indiscreet and
curious examination of the two dancers of the Storm-blown Tulip.
(22) According to the tradition, it was predicted to the mother of
Sixtus V., that he would be pope; and, in his youth, he is said to have
kept swine.
CHAPTER XXX. AN UNEXPECTED VISIT.
Though Rodin had experienced much surprise on reading the second letter
from Rome, he did not choose that his answer should betray any such
amazement. Having finished his frugal breakfast, he took a sheet of
paper, and rapidly wrote in cipher the following note, in the short,
abrupt style that was natural to him when not obliged to restrain
himself:
"The information does not surprise me. I had foreseen it all. Indecision
and cowardice always bear such fruit. This is not enough. Heretical
Russia murders Catholic Poland. Rome blesses the murderers, and curses
the victims.(23)
"Let it pass.
"In return, Russia guarantees to Rome, by Austria, the bloody
suppression of the patriots of Romagna.
"That, too, is well.
"The cut-throat band of good Cardinal Albani is not sufficient for the
massacre of the impious liberals. They are weary of the task.
"Not so well. They must go on."
When Rodin had written these last words, his attention was suddenly
attracted by the clear and sonorous voice of Rose-Pompon, who, knowing
her Beranger by heart, had opened Philemon's window, and, seated on the
sill, sang with much grace and prettiness this verse of the immortal
song-writer:
"How wrong you are! Is't you dare say
That heaven ever scowls on earth?
The earth that laughs up to its blue,
The earth that owes it joy and birth?
Oh, may the wine from vines it warms,
May holy love thence fluttering down,
Lend my philosophy their charms,
To drive away care's direful frown!
So, firm let's stand,
Full glass in hand,
And all evoke
The God of honest folk!"
This song, in its divine gentleness, contrasted so strangely with the
cold cruelty of the few lines written by Rodin, that he started and bit
his lips with rage, as he recognized the words of the great poet, truly
Christian, who had dealt such rude blows to the false Church. Rodin
waited for some moments with angry impatience, thinking the voice would
continue; but Rose-Pompon was silent, or only continued to hum, and soon
changed to another air, that of the Good Pope, which she entoned, but
without words. Rodin, not venturing to look out of his window to see who
was this troublesome warbler, shrugged his shoulders, resumed his pen,
and continued:
"To it again. We must exasperate the independent spirits in all
countries--excite philosophic rage all over Europe make liberalism foam
at the mouth--raise all that is wild and noisy against Rome. To
effect this, we must proclaim in the face of the world these three
propositions. 1. It is abominable to assert that a man may be saved in
any faith whatever, provided his morals be pure. 2. It is odious and
absurd to grant liberty of conscience to the people. 3. The liberty of
the press cannot be held in too much horror.24
"We must bring the Pap-fed man to declare these propositions in
every respect orthodox--show him their good effect upon despotic