The Wandering Jew — Complete
do you, my dear young lady; for your habits of comfort must needs render
you more compassionate towards misfortune. You would yourself suffer too
much from poverty, not to pity and succor those who are its victims."
"Really, sir," said Adrienne, who began to feel herself under the fatal
charm of Rodin, "the more I listen to you, the more I am convinced that
you would defend a thousand times better than I could those ideas for
which I was so harshly reproached by Madame de Saint-Dizier and
Abbe d'Aigrigny. Oh! speak, speak, sir! I cannot tell you with what
happiness, with what pride I listen."
Attentive and moved, her eyes fixed on the Jesuit with as much interest
as sympathy and curiosity, Adrienne, by a graceful toss of the head that
was habitual to her, threw hack her long, golden curls, the better to
contemplate Rodin, who thus resumed: "You are astonished, my dear young
lady, that you were not understood by your aunt or by Abbe d'Aigrigny!
What point of contact had you with these hypocritical, jealous, crafty
minds, such as I can judge them to be now? Do you wish a new proof of
their hateful blindness? Among what they called your monstrous follies,
which was the worst, the most damnable? Why, your resolution to live
alone and in your own way, to dispose freely of the present and the
future. They declared this to be odious, detestable, immoral. And
yet--was this resolution dictated by a mad love of liberty? no!--by
a disordered aversion to all restraint? no!--by the desire of
singularity?--no!--for then I, too, should have blamed you severely."
"Other reasons have indeed guided me, sir, I assure you," said Adrienne
eagerly, for she had become very eager for the esteem with which her
character might inspire Rodin.
"Oh! I know it well; your motives could only be excellent ones," replied
the Jesuit. "Why then did you take this resolution, so much called in
question? Was it to brave established etiquette? no! for you respected
them until the hate of Mme. de Saint-Dizier forced you to withdraw
yourself from her unbearable guardianship. Was it to live alone, to
escape the eyes of the world? no! you would be a hundred times more open
to observation in this than any other condition. Was it to make a bad
use of your liberty? no, ah, no! those who design evil seek for darkness
and solitude; while you place yourself right before the jealous
anal envious eyes of the vulgar crowd. Why then do you take this
determination, so courageous and rare, unexampled in a young person of
your age? Shall I tell you, my dear young lady? It is, that you wish to
prove, by your example, that a woman of pure heart and honest mind, with
a firm character and independence of soul, may nobly and proudly throw
off the humiliating guardianship that custom has imposed upon her. Yes,
instead of accepting the fate of a revolted slave, a life only destined
to hypocrisy or vice, you wish to live freely in presence of all the
world, independent, honorable, and respected. You wish to have, like
man, the exercise of your own free will, the entire responsibility
of all your actions, so as to establish the fact, that a woman left
completely to herself, may equal man in reason, wisdom, uprightness, and
surpass him indelicacy and dignity. That is your design, my dear young
lady. It is noble and great. Will your example be imitated? I hope it
may; but whether it be so or not, your generous attempt, believe me,
will place you in a high and worthy position."
Mdlle. de Cardoville's eyes shone with a proud and gentle brightness,
her cheeks were slightly colored, her bosom heaved, she raised her
charming head with a movement of involuntary pride; at length completely
under the charm of that diabolical man she exclaimed: "But, sir, who are
you that can thus know and analyze my most secret thoughts, and read
my soul more clearly than myself, so as to give new life and action to
those ideas of independence which have long stirred within me? Who are
you, that can thus elevate me in my own eyes, for now I am conscious of
accomplishing a mission, honorable to myself, and perhaps useful to my
sisters immersed in slavery? Once again, sir, who are you?"
"Who am I, madame?" answered Rodin, with a smile of the greatest good
nature; "I have already told you that I am a poor old man, who for the
last forty years, having served in the day time as a writing machine to
record the ideas of others, went home every evening to work out ideas of
his own--a good kind of man who, from his garret, watches and even takes
some little share in the movement of generous spirits, advancing towards
an end that is nearer than is commonly thought. And thus, my dear young
lady, as I told you just now, you and I are both tending towards the
same objects, though you may do the same without reflection, and merely
in obedience to your rare and divine instincts. So continue so to live,
fair, free, and happy!--it is your mission--more providential than you
may think it. Yes; continue to surround yourself with all the marvels of
luxury and art; refine your senses, purify your tastes, by the exquisite
choice of your enjoyments; by genius, grace, and purity raise yourself
above the stupid and ill-favored mob of men, that will instantly
surround you, when they behold you alone and free; they will consider
you an easy prey, destined to please their cupidity, their egotism,
their folly.
"Laugh at them, and mock these idiotic and sordid pretensions. Be
the queen of your own world, and make yourself respected as a queen.
Love--shine--enjoy--it is your part upon earth. All the flowers, with
which you are whelmed in profusion, will one day bear fruit. You think
that you have lived only for pleasure; in reality, you will have lived
for the noblest aims that could tempt a great and lofty soul. And
so--some years hence--we may meet again, perhaps; you, fairer and more
followed than ever; I, older and more obscure. But, no matter--a secret
voice, I am sure, says to you at this moment, that between us two,
however different, there exists an invisible bond, a mysterious
communion, which nothing hereafter will ever be able to destroy!"
He uttered these final words in a tone of such profound emotion, that
Adrienne started. Rodin had approached without her perceiving it, and
without, as it were, walking at all, for he dragged his steps along the
floor, with a sort of serpent motion; and he had spoken with so much
warmth and enthusiasm, that his pale face had become slightly tinged,
and his repulsive ugliness had almost disappeared before the brilliancy
of his small sharp eyes, now wide open, and fixed full upon Adrienne.
The latter leaned forward, with half-open lips and deep-drawn breath,
nor could she take her eyes from the Jesuit's; he had ceased to speak,
and yet she was still listening. The feelings of the fair young lady,
in presence of this little old man, dirty, ugly, and poor, were
inexplicable. That comparison so common, and yet so true, of the
frightful fascination of the bird by the serpent, might give some idea
of the singular impression made upon her. Rodin's tactics were skillful
and sure. Until now, Mdlle. de Cardoville had never analyzed her tastes
or instincts. She had followed them, because they were inoffensive and
charming. How happy and proud she then was sure to be to hear a man of
superior mind not only praise these tendencies, for which she had been
heretofore so severely blamed, but congratulate her upon them, as upon
something great, noble, and divine! If Rodin had only addressed himself
to Adrienne's self-conceit, he would have failed in his perfidious
designs, for she had not the least spark of vanity. But he addressed
himself to all that was enthusiastic and generous in her heart; that
which he appeared to encourage and admire in her was really worthy of
encouragement and admiration. How could she fail to be the dupe of such
language, concealing though it did such dark and fatal projects?
Struck with the Jesuit's rare intelligence, feeling her curiosity
greatly excited by some mysterious words that he had purposely uttered,
hardly explaining to herself the strange influence which this pernicious
counsellor already exercised over her, and animated by respectful
compassion for a man of his age and talents placed in so precarious a
position, Adrienne said to him, with all her natural cordiality, "A man
of your merit and character, sir, ought not to be at the mercy of the
caprice of circumstances. Some of your words have opened a new horizon
before me; I feel that, on many points, your counsels may be of the
greatest use to me. Moreover, in coming to fetch me from this house, and
in devoting yourself to the service of other persons of my family,
you have shown me marks of interest which I cannot forget without
ingratitude. You have lost a humble but secure situation. Permit me--"
"Not a word more, my dear young lady," said Rodin, interrupting Mdlle.
de Cardoville, with an air of chagrin. "I feel for you the deepest
sympathy; I am honored by having ideas in common with you; I believe
firmly that some day you will have to ask advice of the poor old
philosopher; and, precisely because of all that, I must and ought to
maintain towards you the most complete independence."
"But, sir, it is I that would be the obliged party, if you deigned to
accept what I offer."
"Oh, my dear young lady," said Rodin, with a smile: "I know that your
generosity would always know how to make gratitude light and easy; but,
once more, I cannot accept anything from you. One day, perhaps, you will
know why."
"One day?"
"It is impossible for me to tell you more. And then, supposing I were
under an obligation to you, how could I tell you all that was good and
beautiful in your actions? Hereafter, if you are somewhat indebted to
me for my advice, so much the better; I shall be the more ready to blame
you, if I find anything to blame."
"In this way, sir, you would forbid me to be grateful to you."
"No, no," said Rodin, with apparent emotion. "Oh, believe me! there will
come a solemn moment, in which you may repay all, in a manner worthy of
yourself and me."
This conversation was here interrupted by the nurse, who said to
Adrienne as she entered: "Madame, there is a little humpback workwoman
downstairs, who wishes to speak to you. As, according to the doctor's
new orders, you are to do as you like, I have come to ask, if I am to
bring her up to you. She is so badly dressed, that I did not venture."
"Bring her up, by all means," said Adrienne, hastily, for she had
recognized Mother Bunch by the nurse's description. "Bring her up
directly."
"The doctor has also left word, that his carriage is to be at your
orders, madame; are the horses to be put to?"
"Yes, in a quarter of an hour," answered Adrienne to the nurse, who
went out; then, addressing Rodin, she continued: "I do not think the
magistrate can now be long, before he returns with Marshal Simon's
daughters?"
"I think not, my dear young lady; but who is this deformed workwoman?"
asked Rodin, with an air of indifference.
"The adopted sister of a gallant fellow, who risked all in endeavoring
to rescue me from this house. And, sir," said Adrienne, with emotion,
"this young workwoman is a rare and excellent creature. Never was
a nobler mind, a more generous heart, concealed beneath an exterior
less--"
But reflecting, that Rodin seemed to unite in his own person the same
moral and physical contrasts as the sewing-girl, Adrienne stopped short,
and then added, with inimitable grace, as she looked at the Jesuit, who
was somewhat astonished at the sudden pause: "No; this noble girl is
not the only person who proves how loftiness of soul, and superiority of
mind, can make us indifferent to the vain advantages which belong