The Wandering Jew — Complete
"It was then a desperate case, given up by the best doctors," continued
Rodin, with irony, "and yet I have undertaken to restore it to life. Go
on."
And, plunging both hands into the pockets of his trousers, he looked
Father d'Aigrigny full in the face.
"Your reverence blamed me harshly," resumed Father d'Aigrigny, "not for
having sought, by every possible means, to recover the property odiously
diverted from our society--"
"All your casuists authorize you to do so," said the cardinal; "the
texts are clear and positive; you have a right to recover; per fas aut
nefas what has been treacherously taken from you."
"And therefore," resumed Father d'Aigrigny, "Father Rodin only
reproached me with the military roughness of my means. 'Their violence,'
he said, 'was in dangerous opposition to the manners of the age.' Be it
so; but first of all, I could not be exposed to any legal proceedings,
and, but for one fatal circumstance, success would have crowned the
course I had taken, however rough and brutal it may appear. Now, may I
ask your reverence what--"
"What I have done more than you?" said Rodin to Father d'Aigrigny,
giving way to his impertinent habit of interrupting people; "what I have
done better than you?--what step I have taken in the Rennepont affair,
since I received it from you in a desperate condition? Is that what you
wish to know?"
"Precisely," said Father d'Aigrigny, dryly.
"Well, I confess," resumed Rodin, in a sardonic tone, "just as you did
great things, coarse things, turbulent things, I have been doing little,
puerile, secret things. Oh, heaven! you cannot imagine what a foolish
part I, who passed for a man of enlarged views, have been acting for the
last six weeks."
"I should never have allowed myself to address such a reproach to your
reverence, however deserved it may appear," said Father d'Aigrigny, with
a bitter smile.
"A reproach?" said Rodin, shrugging his shoulders; "a reproach? You
shall be the judge. Do you know what I wrote about you, some six weeks
ago? Here it is: 'Father d'Aigrigny has excellent qualities. He will
be of much service to me'--and from to-morrow I shall employ you very
actively, added Rodin, by way of parenthesis--'but he is not great
enough to know how to make himself little on occasion.' Do you
understand?"
"Not very well," said Father d'Aigrigny, blushing.
"So much the worse for you," answered Rodin; "it only proves that I was
right. Well, since I must tell you, I have been wise enough to play the
most foolish part for six whole weeks. Yes, I have chatted nonsense with
a grisette--have talked of liberty, progress, humanity, emancipation of
women, with a young, excited girl; of Napoleon the Great, and all sorts
of Bonapartist idolatry, with an old, imbecile soldier; of imperial
glory, humiliation of France, hopes in the King of Rome, with a certain
marshal of France, who, with a heart full of adoration for the robber of
thrones, that was transported to Saint-Helena, has a head as hollow and
sonorous as a trumpet, into which you have only to blow some warlike or
patriotic notes, and it will flourish away of itself, without knowing
why or how. More than all this, I have talked of love affairs with
a young tiger. When I told you it was lamentable to see a man of
any intelligence descend, as I have done, to all such petty ways of
connecting the thousand threads of this dark web, was I not right? Is it
not a fine spectacle to see the spider obstinately weaving its net?--to
see the ugly little black animal crossing thread upon thread, fastening
it here, strengthening it there, and again lengthening it in some
other place? You shrug your shoulders in pity; but return two hours
after--what will you find? The little black animal eating its fill, and
in its web a dozen of the foolish flies, bound so securely, that the
little black animal has only to choose the moment of its repast."
As he uttered those words, Rodin smiled strangely; his eyes, gradually
half closed, opened to their full width, and seemed to shine more
than usual. The Jesuit felt a sort of feverish excitement, which he
attributed to the contest in which he had engaged before these eminent
personages, who already felt the influence of his original and cutting
speech.
Father d'Aigrigny began to regret having entered on the contest. He
resumed, however, with ill-repressed irony: "I do not dispute the
smallness of your means. I agree with you, they are very puerile--they
are even very vulgar. But that is not quite sufficient to give an
exalted notion of your merit. May I be allowed to ask--"
"What these means have produced?" resumed Rodin, with an excitement that
was not usual with him. "Look into my spider's web, and you will see
there the beautiful and insolent young girl, so proud, six weeks ago, of
her grace, mind, and audacity--now pale, trembling, mortally wounded at
the heart."
"But the act of chivalrous intrepidity of the Indian prince, with which
all Paris is ringing," said the princess, "must surely have touched
Mdlle. de Cardoville."
"Yes; but I have paralyzed the effect of that stupid and savage
devotion, by demonstrating to the young lady that it is not sufficient
to kill black panthers to prove one's self a susceptible, delicate, and
faithful lover."
"Be it so," said Father d'Aigrigny; "we will admit the fact that Mdlle.
de Cardoville is wounded to the heart."
"But what does this prove with regard to the Rennepont affair?" asked
the cardinal, with curiosity, as he leaned his elbows on the table.
"There results from it," said Rodin, "that when our most dangerous enemy
is mortally wounded, she abandons the battlefield. That is something, I
should imagine."
"Indeed," said the princess, "the talents and audacity of Mdlle. de
Cardoville would make her the soul of the coalition formed against us."
"Be it so," replied Father d'Aigrigny, obstinately; "she may be no
longer formidable in that respect. But the wound in her heart will not
prevent her from inheriting."
"Who tells you so?" asked Rodin, coldly, and with assurance. "Do you
know why I have taken such pains, first to bring her in contact with
Djalma, and then to separate her from him?"
"That is what I ask you," said Father D'Aigrigny; "how can this storm of
passion prevent Mdlle. de Cardoville and the prince from inheriting?"
"Is it from the serene, or from the stormy sky, that darts the
destroying thunderbolt?" said Rodin, disdainfully. "Be satisfied; I
shall know where to place the conductor. As for M. Hardy, the man lived
for three things: his workmen, his friend, his mistress. He has been
thrice wounded in the heart. I always take aim at the heart; it is legal
and sure."
"It is legal, and sure, and praiseworthy," said the bishop; "for, if
I understand you rightly, this manufacturer had a concubine; now it is
well to make use of an evil passion for the punishment of the wicked."
"True, quite true," added the cardinal; "if they have evil passion for
us to make use of it, it is their own fault."
"Our holy Mother Perpetue," said the princess, "took every means to
discover this abominable adultery."
"Well, then, M. Hardy is wounded in his dearest affections, I admit,"
said Father d'Aigrigny, still disputing every inch of ground; "ruined
too in his fortune, which will only make him the more eager after this
inheritance."
The argument appeared of weight to the two prelates and the princess;
all looked at Rodin with anxious curiosity. Instead of answering he
walked up to the sideboard, and, contrary to his habits of stoical
sobriety, and in spite of his repugnance for wine, he examined the
decanters, and said: "What is there in them?"
"Claret and sherry," said the hostess, much astonished at the sudden
taste of Rodin, "and--"
The latter took a decanter at hazard, and poured out a glass of Madeira,
which he drank off at a draught. Just be fore he had felt a strange kind
of shivering; to this had succeeded a sort of weakness. He hoped the
wine would revive him.
After wiping his mouth with the back of his dirty hand, he returned to
the table, and said to Father d'Aigrigny: "What did you tell me about M.
Hardy?"
"That being ruined in fortune, he would be the more eager to obtain this
immense inheritance," answered Father d'Aigrigny, inwardly much offended
at the imperious tone.
"M. Hardy think of money?" said Rodin, shrugging his shoulders. "He is
indifferent to life, plunged in a stupor from which he only starts to
burst into tears. Then he speaks with mechanical kindness to those about
him. I have placed him in good hands. He begins, however, to be sensible
to the attentions shown him, for he is good, excellent, weak; and ii is
to this excellence, Father d'Aigrigny, that you must appeal to finish
the work in hand."
"I?" said Father d'Aigrigny, much surprised.
"Yes; and then you will find that the result I have obtained is
considerable, and--"
Rodin paused, and, pressing his hand to his forehead, said to himself:
"It is strange!"
"What is the matter?" said the princess, with interest.
"Nothing, madame," answered Rodin, with a shiver; "it is doubtless the
wine I drank; I am not accustomed to it. I feel a slight headache; but
it will pass."
"Your eyes are very bloodshot, my good father, said the princess.
"I have looked too closely into my web," answered the Jesuit, with a
sinister smile; "and I must look again, to make Father d'Aigrigny,
who pretends to be blind, catch a glimpse of my other flies. The two
daughters of Marshal Simon, for instance, growing sadder and more
dejected every day, at the icy barrier raised between them and their
father; and the latter thinking himself one day dishonored if he does
this, another if he does that; so that the hero of the Empire has become
weaker and more irresolute than a child. What more remains of this
impious family? Jacques Rennepont? Ask Morok, to what a state of
debasement intemperance has reduced him, and towards what an abyss he is
rushing!--There is my occurrence-sheet; you see to what are reduced all
the members of this family, who, six weeks ago, had each elements of
strength and union! Behold these Renneponts, who, by the will of their
heretical ancestor, were to unite their forces to combat and crush our
Society!--There was good reason to fear them; but what did I say? That I
would act upon their passions. What have I done? I have acted upon their
passions. At this hour they are vainly struggling in my web--they are
mine--they are mine--"
As he was speaking, Rodin's countenance and voice had undergone a
singular alteration; his complexion, generally so cadaverous, had become
flushed, but unequally, and in patches; then, strange phenomenon! his
eyes grew both more brilliant and more sunken, and his voice sharper
and louder. The change in the countenance of Rodin, of which he did not
appear to be conscious, was so remarkable, that the other actors in this
scene looked at him with a sort of terror.
Deceived as to the cause of this impression, Rodin exclaimed with
indignation, in a voice interrupted by deep gaspings for breath: "It is
pity for this impious race, that I read upon your faces? Pity for the
young girl, who never enters a church, and erects pagan altars in
her habitation? Pity for Hardy, the sentimental blasphemer, the
philanthropic atheist, who had no chapel in his factory, and dared
to blend the names of Socrates, Marcus, Aurelius, and Plato, with our
Savior's? Pity for the Indian worshipper of Brahma? Pity for the two
sisters, who have never even been baptized? Pity for that brute, Jacques
Rennepont? Pity for the stupid imperial soldier, who has Napoleon for
his god, and the bulletins of the Grand Army for his gospel? Pity