The Wandering Jew — Complete
perfectly livid and cadaverous, and so thin, that the dry, rugged skin
appeared to cling to the smallest prominence of bone. The muscles and
veins of the long, lean, vulture-like neck resembled a bundle of cords.
The head, covered with an old, black, filthy nightcap, from beneath
which strayed a few thin, gray hairs, rested upon a dirty pillow; for
Rodin would not allow them to change his linen. His iron-gray beard had
not been shaved for some time, and stood out like the hairs of a brush.
Under his shirt he wore an old flannel waistcoat full of holes. He had
one of his arms out of bed, and his bony hairy hand, with its bluish
nails, held fast a cotton handkerchief of indescribable color.
You might have taken him for a corpse, had it not been for the two
brilliant sparks which still burned in the depths of his eyes. In that
look, in which seemed concentrated all the remaining life and energy
of the man, you might read the most restless anxiety. Sometimes his
features revealed the sharpest pangs; sometimes the twisting of his
hands, and his sudden starts, proclaimed his despair at being thus
fettered to a bed of pain, whilst the serious interests which he had
in charge required all the activity of his mind. Thus, with thoughts
continually on the stretch, his mind often wandered, and he had fits
of delirium, from which he woke as from a painful dream. By the prudent
advice of Dr. Baleinier, who considered him not in a state to attend to
matters of--importance, Father d'Aigrigny had hitherto evaded Rodin's
questions with regard to the Rennepont affair, which he dreaded to see
lost and ruined in consequence of his forced inaction. The silence of
Father d'Aigrigny on this head, and the ignorance in which they kept
him, only augmented the sick man's exasperation. Such was the moral and
physical state of Rodin, when Cardinal Malipieri entered his chamber
against his will.
CHAPTER XXVII. THE LURE.
To understand fully the tortures of Rodin, reduced to inactivity by
sickness, and to explain the importance of Cardinal Malipieri's visit,
we must remember the audacious views of the ambitious Jesuit, who
believed himself following in the steps of Sixtus V., and expected to
become his equal. By the success of the Rennepont affair, to attain to
the generalship of his Order, by the corruption of the Sacred College
to ascend the pontifical throne, and then, by means of a change in the
statutes of the Company, to incorporate the Society of Jesus with the
Holy See, instead of leaving it independent, to equal and almost always
rule the Papacy--such were the secret projects of Rodin.
Their possibility was sanctioned by numerous precedents, for many mere
monks and priests had been suddenly raised to the pontifical dignity.
And as for their morality, the accession of the Borgias, of Julius
II., and other dubious Vicars of Christ, might excuse and authorize the
pretensions of the Jesuits.
Though the object of his secret intrigues at Rome had hitherto been
enveloped in the greatest mystery, suspicions had been excited in regard
to his private communications with many members of the Sacred College.
A portion of that college, Cardinal Malipieri at the head of them, had
become very uneasy on the subject, and, profiting by his journey
to France, the cardinal had resolved to penetrate the Jesuit's dark
designs. If, in the scene we have just painted, the cardinal showed
himself so obstinately bent on having a conference with Rodin, in spite
of the refusal of the latter, it was because the prelate hoped, as we
shall soon see, to get by cunning at the secret, which had hitherto
been so well concealed. It was, therefore, in the midst of all these
extraordinary circumstances, that Rodin saw himself the victim of a
malady, which paralyzed his strength, at the moment when he had need of
all his activity, and of all the resources of his mind. After remaining
for some seconds motionless near the door, the cardinal, still holding
his bottle under his nose, slowly approached the bed where Rodin lay.
The latter, enraged at this perseverance, and wishing to avoid an
interview which for many reasons was singularly odious to him, turned
his face towards the wall, and pretended to be asleep. Caring little for
this feint, and determined to profit by Rodin's state of weakness, the
prelate took a chair, and, conquering his repugnance, sat down close to
the Jesuit's bed.
"My reverend and very dear father, how do you find yourself?" said he to
him, in a honeyed tone, which his Italian accent seemed to render still
more hypocritical. Rodin pretended not to hear, breathed hard, and made
no answer. But the cardinal, not without disgust, shook with his gloved
hand the arm of the Jesuit, and repeated in a louder voice: "My reverend
and very dear father, answer me, I conjure you!"
Rodin could not restrain a movement of angry impatience, but he
continued silent. The cardinal was not a man to be discouraged by so
little; he again shook the arm of the Jesuit, somewhat more roughly,
repeating, with a passionless tenacity that would have incensed the most
patient person in the world: "My reverend and very dear father, since
you are not asleep, listen to me, I entreat of you."
Irritable with pain, exasperated by the obstinacy of the prelate, Rodin
abruptly turned his head, fixed on the Roman his hollow eyes, shining
with lurid fire, and, with lips contracted by a sardonic smile, said to
him, bitterly: "You must be very anxious, my lord, to see me embalmed,
and lie in state with tapers, as you were saying just now, for you thus
to come to torment me in my last moments, and hasten my end!"
"Oh, my good father! how can you talk so?" cried the cardinal, raising
his hands as if to call heaven to witness to the sincerity of the tender
interest he felt for the Jesuit.
"I tell you that I heard all just now, my lord; for the partition is
thin," added Rodin, with redoubled bitterness.
"If you mean that, from the bottom of my soul, I desired that you should
make an exemplary and Christian end, you are perfectly right, my dear
father. I did say so; for, after a life so well employed, it would be
sweet to see you an object of adoration for the faithful!"
"I tell you, my lord," cried Rodin, in a weak and broken voice, "that
it is ferocious to express such wishes in the presence of a dying man.
Yes," he added, with growing animation, that contrasted strongly with
his weakness, "take care what you do; for if I am too much plagued and
pestered--if I am not allowed to breathe my last breath quietly--I give
you notice that you will force me to die in anything but a Christian
manner, and if you mean to profit by an edifying spectacle, you will be
deceived."
This burst of anger having greatly fatigued Rodin, his head fell back
upon the pillow, and he wiped his cracked and bleeding lips with his old
cotton handkerchief.
"Come, come, be calm, my very dear father," resumed the cardinal, with
a patronizing air; "do not give way to such gloomy ideas. Doubtless,
Providence reserves you for great designs, since you have been already
delivered from so much peril. Let us hope that you will be likewise
saved from your present danger."
Rodin answered by a hoarse growl, and turned his face towards the wall.
The imperturbable prelate continued: "The views of Providence are not
confined to your salvation, my very dear father. Its power has been
manifested in another way. What I am about to tell you is of the highest
importance. Listen attentively."
Without turning his head, Rodin muttered in a tone of angry bitterness,
which betrayed his intense sufferings: "They desire my death. My chest
is on fire, my head racked with pain, and they have no pity. Oh, I
suffer the tortures of the damned!"
"What! already" thought the Roman, with a smile of sarcastic malice;
then he said aloud: "Let me persuade you, my very dear father--make an
effort to listen to me; you will not regret it."
Still stretched upon the bed, Rodin lifted his hands clasped upon his
cotton handkerchief with a gesture of despair, and then let them fall
again by his side.
The cardinal slightly shrugged his shoulders, and laid great stress
on what follows, so that Rodin might not lose a word of it: "My dear
father, it has pleased Providence that, during your fit of raving, you
have made, without knowing it, the most important revelations."
The prelate waited with anxious curiosity for the effect of the pious
trap he had laid for the Jesuit's weakened faculties. But the latter,
still turned towards the wall, did not appear to have heard him and
remained silent.
"You are, no doubt, reflecting on my words, my dear father," resumed
the cardinal; "you are right, for it concerns a very serious affair. I
repeat to you that Providence has allowed you, during your delirium, to
betray your most secret thoughts--happily, to me alone. They are such
as would compromise you in the highest degree. In short, during your
delirium of last night, which lasted nearly two hours, you unveiled the
secret objects of your intrigues at Rome with many of the members of the
Sacred College."
The cardinal, rising softly, stooped over the bed to watch the
expression of Rodin's countenance. But the latter did not give him time.
As a galvanized corpse starts into strange and sudden motion, Rodin
sprang into a sitting posture at the last words of the prelate.
"He has betrayed himself," said the cardinal, in a low voice, in
Italian. Then, resuming his seat, he fixed on the Jesuit his eyes, that
sparkled with triumphant joy.
Though he did not hear the exclamation of Malipieri, nor remark the
expression of his countenance, Rodin, notwithstanding his state of
weakness, instantly felt the imprudence of his start. He pressed his
hand to his forehead, as though he had been seized with a giddiness;
then, looking wildly round him, he pressed to his trembling lips his old
cotton handkerchief, and gnawed it mechanically for some seconds.
"Your emotion and alarm confirm the sad discoveries I have made,"
resumed the cardinal, still more rejoicing at the success of his trick;
"and now, my dear father," added he, "you will understand that it is
for your best interest to enter into the most minute detail as to your
projects and accomplices at Rome. You may then hope, my dear father,
for the indulgence of the Holy See--that is, if your avowals are
sufficiently explicit to fill up the chasms necessarily left in a
confession made during delirium."
Rodin, recovered from his first surprise, perceived, but too late, that
he had fallen into a snare, not by any words he had spoken, but by his
too significant movements. In fact, the Jesuit had feared for a moment
that he might have betrayed himself during his delirium, when he heard
himself accused of dark intrigues with Rome; but, after some minutes of
reflection, his common sense suggested: "If this crafty Roman knew my
secret, he would take care not to tell me so. He has only suspicions,
confirmed by my involuntary start just now."
Rodin wiped the cold sweat from his burning forehead. The emotion of
this scene augmented his sufferings, and aggravated the danger of his
condition. Worn out with fatigue, he could not remain long in a sitting
posture, and soon fell back upon the bed.
"Per Bacco!" said the cardinal to himself, alarmed at the expression
of the Jesuit's face; "if he were to die before he had spoken, and so
escape the snare!"
Then, leaning over the bed, the prelate asked: "What is the matter, my
very dear father?"
"I am weak, my lord--I am in pain--I cannot express what I suffer."
"Let us hope, my very dear father, that this crisis will have no fatal
results; but the contrary may happen, and it behooves the salvation