The Wandering Jew — Complete
"Very well. Leave us!" The nurse went out.
CHAPTER XXXV. SYMPATHY.
If it had been possible for Mdlle. de Cardoville to harbor any suspicion
of the sincerity of Rodin's devotion, it must have given way before this
reasoning, unfortunately so simple and undeniable. How could she suppose
the faintest complicity between the Abbe d'Aigrigny and his secretary,
when it was the latter who completely unveiled the machinations of his
master, and exposed them to the tribunals? when in this, Rodin went
even further than Mdlle. de Cardoville would herself have gone? Of what
secret design could she suspect the Jesuit? At worst, of a desire to
earn by his services the profitable patronage of the young lady.
And then, had he not just now protested against this supposition, by
declaring his devotion, not to Mdlle. de Cardoville--not to the fair,
rich, noble lady--but to the high-souled and generous girl? Finally,
as Rodin had said himself, could any but a miserable wretch fail to be
interested in Adrienne's fate? A strange mixture of curiosity, surprise,
and interest, was joined with Mdlle. de Cardoville's feelings of
gratitude towards Rodin. Yet, as she recognized the superior mind under
that humble exterior, she was suddenly struck with a grave suspicion.
"Sir," said she to Rodin, "I always confess to the persons I esteem the
doubts they may have inspired, so that they may justify themselves, and
excuse me, if I am wrong."
Rodin looked at Mdlle. de Cardoville with surprise, as if mentally
calculating the suspicions than she might entertain, and replied,
after a moment's silence: "You are perhaps thinking of my journey to
Cardoville, of my base proposals to your good and worthy bailiff? Oh! if
you--"
"No, no, sir," said Adrienne, interrupting him; "you made that
confession spontaneously, and I quite understand, that, blinded with
regard to M. d'Aigrigny, you passively executed instructions repugnant
to your delicacy. But how comes it, that, with your incontestable
merits, you have so long; occupied so mean a position in his service?"
"It is true," said Rodin, with a smile; "that must impress you
unfavorably, my dear young lady; for a man of any capacity, who remains
long in an inferior condition, has evidently some radical vice, some bad
or base passion--"
"It is generally true, sir."
"And personally true--with regard to myself."
"What, sir! do you make this avowal?"
"Alas! I confess that I have a bad passion, to which, for forty years, I
have sacrificed all chances of attaining to a better position."
"And this passion, sir?"
"Since I must make the unpleasant avowal, this passion is
indolence--yes, indolence--the horror of all activity of mind, of all
moral responsibility, of taking the lead in anything. With the twelve
hundred francs that Abbe d'Aigrigny gave me, I was the happiest man in
the world; I trusted to the nobleness of his views; his thoughts became
mine, his wishes mine. My work once finished, I returned to my poor
little chamber, I lighted my fire, I dined on vegetables--then, taking
up some book of philosophy, little known, and dreaming over it, I gave
free course to my imagination, which, restrained all the day long,
carried me through numberless theories to a delicious Utopia. Then, from
the eminences of my intelligence, lifted up Lord knows whither, by the
audacity of my thoughts, I seemed to look down upon my master, and upon
the great men of the earth. This fever lasted for three or four hours,
after which I had a good sleep; and, the next morning, I went lightly to
my work, secure of my daily bread, without cares for the future, living
content with little, waiting with impatience for the delights of my
solitary evening, and saying to myself as I went on writing like a
stupid machine: 'And yet--and yet--if I chose!'--"
"Doubtless, you could, like others, surer than others, have reached a
higher position," said Adrienne, greatly struck with Rodin's practical
philosophy.
"Yes, I think I could have done so; but for what purpose?--You see, my
dear young lady, what often renders people of some merit puzzles to the
vulgar, is that they are frequently content to say: 'If I chose!'"
"But, sir, without attaching much importance to the luxuries of
life, there is a certain degree of comfort, which age renders almost
indispensable, and which you seem to have utterly renounced."
"Undeceive yourself, if you please, my dear young lady," said Rodin,
with a playful smile. "I am a true Sybarite; I require absolutely warm
clothes, a good stove, a soft mattress, a good piece of bread, a fresh
radish, flavored with good cheap salt, and some good, clear water; and,
notwithstanding this complication of wants, my twelve hundred francs
have always more than sufficed, for I have been able to make some little
savings."
"But now that you are without employment, how will you manage to live,
sir?" said Adrienne, more and more interested by the singularities of
this man, and wishing to put his disinterestedness to the proof.
"I have laid by a little, which will serve me till I have unravelled
the last thread of Father d'Aigrigny's dark designs. I owe myself this
reparation, for having been his dupe; three or four days, I hope, will
complete the work. After that, I have the certainty of meeting with a
situation, in my native province, under a collector of taxes: some
time ago, the offer was made me by a friend; but then I would not leave
Father d'Aigrigny, notwithstanding the advantages proposed. Fancy, my
dear young lady--eight hundred francs, with board and lodging! As I am
a little of the roughest, I should have preferred lodging apart; but, as
they give me so much, I must submit to this little inconvenience."
Nothing could exceed Rodin's ingenuity, in making these little household
confidences (so abominably false) to Mdlle. de Cardoville, who felt her
last suspicions give way.
"What, sir?" said she to the Jesuit, with interest; "in three or four
days, you mean to quit Paris?"
"I hope to do so, my dear young lady; and that," added he, in a
mysterious tone, "and that for many reasons. But what would be very
precious to me," he resumed, in a serious voice, as he looked at
Adrienne with emotion, "would be to carry with me the conviction,
that you did me the justice to believe, that, on merely reading your
interview with the Princess de Saint-Dizier, I recognized at once
qualities quite unexampled in our day, in a young person of your age and
condition."
"Ah, sir!" said Adrienne, with a smile, "do not think yourself
obliged to return so soon the sincere praises that I bestowed on your
superiority of mind. I should be better pleased with ingratitude."
"Oh, no! I do not flatter you, my dear young lady. Why should I? We
may probably never meet again. I do not flatter you; I understand
you--that's all--and what will seem strange to you, is, that your
appearance complete, the idea which I had already formed of you, my dear
young lady, in reading your interview with your aunt: and some parts of
your character, hitherto obscure to me, are now fully displayed."
"Really, sir, you astonish me more and more."
"I can't help it! I merely describe my impressions. I can now explain
perfectly, for example, your passionate love of the beautiful, your
eager worship of the refinements of the senses, your ardent aspirations
for a better state of things, your courageous contempt of many degrading
and servile customs, to which woman is condemned; yes, now I
understand the noble pride with which you contemplate the mob of vain,
self-sufficient, ridiculous men, who look upon woman as a creature
destined for their service, according to the laws made after their own
not very handsome image. In the eyes of these hedge-tyrants, woman, a
kind of inferior being to whom a council of cardinals deigned to grant a
soul by a majority of two voices, ought to think herself supremely happy
in being the servant of these petty pachas, old at thirty, worn-out,
used up, weary with excesses, wishing only for repose, and seeking, as
they say, to make an end of it, which they set about by marrying some
poor girl, who is on her side desirous to make a beginning."
Mdlle. de Cardoville would certainly have smiled at these satirical
remarks, if she had not been greatly struck by hearing Rodin express in
such appropriate terms her own ideas, though it was the first time in
her life that she saw this dangerous man. Adrienne forgot, or
rather, she was not aware, that she had to deal with a Jesuit of rare
intelligence, uniting the information and the mysterious resources of
the police-spy with the profound sagacity of the confessor; one of those
diabolic priests, who, by the help of a few hints, avowals, letters,
reconstruct a character, as Cuvier could reconstruct a body from
zoological fragments. Far from interrupting Rodin, Adrienne listened
to him with growing curiosity. Sure of the effect he produced, he
continued, in a tone of indignation: "And your aunt and the Abbe
d'Aigrigny treated you as mad, because you revolted against the yoke of
such tyrants! because, hating the shameful vices of slavery, you chose
to be independent with the suitable qualities of independence, free with
the proud virtues of liberty!"
"But, sir," said Adrienne, more and more surprised, "how can my thoughts
be so familiar to you?"
"First, I know you perfectly, thanks to your interview with the Princess
de Saint-Dizier: and next, if it should happen that we both pursue the
same end, though by different means," resumed Rodin, artfully, as he
looked at Mdlle. de Cardoville with an air of intelligence, "why should
not our convictions be the same?"
"I do not understand you, sir. Of what end do you speak?"
"The end pursued incessantly by all lofty, generous, independent
spirits--some acting, like you, my dear young lady, from passion, from
instinct, without perhaps explaining to themselves the high mission they
are called on to ful, fil. Thus, for example, when you take pleasure
in the most refined delights, when you surround yourself with all that
charms the senses, do you think that you only yield to the attractions
of the beautiful, to the desire of exquisite enjoyments? No! ah, no! for
then you would be incomplete, odiously selfish, a dry egotist, with a
fine taste--nothing more--and at your age, it would be hideous, my dear
young lady, it would be hideous!"
"And do you really think thus severely of me?" said Adrienne, with
uneasiness, so much influence had this man irresistibly attained over
her.
"Certainly, I should think thus of you, if you loved luxury for luxury's
sake; but, no--quite another sentiment animates you," resumed the
Jesuit. "Let us reason a little. Feeling a passionate desire for all
these enjoyments, you know their value and their need more than any
one--is it not so?"
"It is so," replied Adrienne, deeply interested.
"Your gratitude and favor are then necessarily acquired by those who,
poor, laborious, and unknown, have procured for you these marvels of
luxury, which you could not do without?"
"This feeling of gratitude is so strong in me, sir," replied Adrienne,
more and more pleased to find herself so well understood, "that I once
had inscribed on a masterpiece of goldsmith's work, instead of the name
of the seller, that of the poor unknown artist who designed it, and who
has since risen to his true place."
"There you see, I was not deceived," went on Rodin; "the taste for
enjoyment renders you grateful to those who procure it for you; and
that is not all; here am I, an example, neither better nor worse than my
neighbors, but accustomed to privations, which cause me no suffering--so
that the privations of others necessarily touch me less nearly than they