The Wandering Jew — Complete
ram. Guided by the light, they ran to the chamber of the orphans, now
deserted. Morok saw the sheets floating from the casement, and cried:
"Mr. Burgomaster, they have escaped by the window--they are on foot--in
this dark and stormy night, they cannot be far."
"No doubt, we shall catch them, the miserable tramps! Oh, I will be
revenged! Quick, Morok; your honor is concerned as well as mine."
"My honor?--Much more is concerned than that, Mr. Burgomaster," answered
the Prophet, in a tone of great irritation. Then, rapidly descending the
stairs, he opened the door of the court-yard, and shouted in a voice of
thunder:
"Goliath! unchain the dogs!--and, landlord! bring us lanterns,
torches--arm your people--open the doors!--We must pursue the fugitives;
they cannot escape us; we must have them--alive or dead!"
CHAPTER XV. THE DESPATCHES.
When we read, in the rules of the order of the Jesuits, under the title
De formula scribendi (Institut. 2, 11, p. 125, 129), the development
of the 8th part of the constitutions, we are appalled by the number of
letters, narratives, registers, and writings of all kinds, preserved in
the archives of the society.
It is a police infinitely more exact and better informed than has ever
been that of any state. Even the government of Venice found itself
surpassed by the Jesuits: when it drove them out in 1606, it seized
all their papers, and reproached them for their great and laborious
curiosity. This police, this secret inquisition, carried to such
a degree of perfection, may give some idea of the strength of a
government, so well-informed so persevering in its projects, so powerful
by its unity, and, as the constitutions have it, by the union of its
members. It is not hard to understand, what immense force must belong to
the heads of this society, and how the general of the Jesuits could say
to the Duke de Brissac: "From this room, your grace, I govern not only
Paris, but China--not only China, but the whole world--and all without
any one knowing how it is done:" (Constitution of the Jesuits, edited by
Paulin, Paris, 1843.)
Morok, the lion-tamer, seeing Dagobert deprived of his horse, and
stripped of his money and papers, and thinking it was thus out of his
power to continue his journey, had, previous to the arrival of the
burgomaster, despatched Karl to Leipsic, as the bearer of a letter which
he was to put immediately into the post. The address of this letter was
as follows: "A Monsieur Rodin, Rue du Milieu des Ursins, Paris."
About the middle of this obscure and solitary street, situate below the
level of the Quai Napoleon, which it joins not far from the Rue Saint
Landry, there stood a house of unpretentious appearance, at the bottom
of a dark and narrow court-yard, separated from the street by a low
building in front, with arched doorway, and two windows protected by
thick iron bars. Nothing could be more simple than the interior of this
quiet dwelling, as was sufficiently shown by the furniture of a pretty
large room on the ground floor. The walls of this apartment were lined
with old gray wainscot; the tiled floor was painted red, and carefully
polished; curtains of white calico shaded the windows.
A sphere of about four feet in diameter, raised on a pedestal of massive
oak, stood at one end of the room, opposite to the fireplace. Upon this
globe, which was painted on a large scale, a host of little red crosses
appeared scattered over all parts of the world--from the North to the
South, from the rising to the setting sun, from the most barbarous
countries, from the most distant isles, to the centres of civilization,
to France itself. There was not a single country which did not present
some spots marked with these red crosses, evidently indicative of
stations, or serving as points of reference.
Before a table of black wood, loaded with papers, and resting against
the wall near the chimney, a chair stood empty. Further on, between the
two windows, was a large walnut-wood desk, surmounted by shelves full of
pasteboard boxes.
At the end of the month of October, 1831, about eight o'clock in
the morning, a man sat writing at this desk. This was M. Rodin, the
correspondent of Morok, the brute-tamer.
About fifty years of age, he wore an old, shabby, olive greatcoat, with
a greasy collar, a snuff-powdered cotton handkerchief for a cravat, and
waistcoat and trousers of threadbare black cloth. His feet, buried in
loose varnished shoes, rested on a petty piece of green baize upon
the red, polished floor. His gray hair lay flat on his temples, and
encircled his bald forehead; his eyebrows were scarcely marked; his
upper eyelid, flabby and overhanging, like the membrane which shades the
eyes of reptiles, half concealed his small, sharp, black eye. His thin
lips, absolutely colorless, were hardly distinguishable from the wan hue
of his lean visage, with its pointed nose and chin; and this livid mask
(deprived as it were of lips) appeared only the more singular, from
its maintaining a death-like immobility. Had it not been for the rapid
movement of his fingers, as, bending over the desk, he scratched along
with his pen, M. Rodin might have been mistaken for a corpse.
By the aid of a cipher (or secret alphabet) placed before him he was
copying certain passages from a long sheet full of writing, in a manner
quite unintelligible to those who did not possess the key to the system.
Whilst the darkness of the day increased the gloom of the large, cold,
naked-looking apartment, there was something awful in the chilling
aspect of this man, tracing his mysterious characters in the midst of
profound silence.
The clock struck eight. The dull sound of the knocker at the outer door
was heard, then a bell tinkled twice, several doors opened and shut, and
a new personage entered the chamber. On seeing him, M. Rodin rose
from the desk, stuck his pen between his teeth, bowed with a deeply
submissive air, and sat down again to his work without uttering a word.
The two formed a striking contrast to one another. The newcomer, though
really older than he seemed, would have passed for thirty-six or thirty
eight years of age at most. His figure was tall and shapely, and few
could have encountered the brightness of his large gray eye, brilliant
as polished steel. His nose, broad at the commencement, formed a
well-cut square at its termination; his chin was prominent, and the
bluish tints of his close-shaved beard were contrasted with the bright
carnation of his lips, and the whiteness of his fine teeth. When he took
off his hat to change it for a black velvet cap which he found on the
small table, he displayed a quantity of light chestnut hair, not yet
silvered by time. He was dressed in a long frock-coat, buttoned up to
the neck in military fashion.
The piercing glance and broad forehead of this man revealed a powerful
intellect, even as the development of his chest and shoulders announced
a vigorous physical organization; whilst his gentlemanly appearance, the
perfection of his gloves and boots, the light perfume which hung about
his hair and person, the grace and ease of his least movements, betrayed
what is called the man of the world, and left the impression that he
had sought or might still seek every kind of success, from the most
frivolous to the most serious. This rare combination of strength of
mind, strength of body, and extreme elegance of manners, was in this
instance rendered still more striking by the circumstance, that whatever
there might be of haughtiness or command in the upper part of that
energetic countenance, was softened down, and tempered by a constant
but not uniform smile--for, as occasion served, this smile became
either kind or sly, cordial or gay, discreet or prepossessing, and thus
augmented the insinuating charm of this man, who, once seen, was never
again forgotten. But, in yielding to this involuntary sympathy, the
doubt occurred if the influence was for good--or for evil.
M. Rodin, the secretary of the newcomer, continued to write.
"Are there any letters from Dunkirk, Rodin?" inquired his master.
"Post not yet in."
"Without being positively uneasy as to my mother's health, since she
was already convalescent," resumed the other, "I shall only be quite
reassured by a letter from my excellent friend, the Princess de Saint
Dizier. I shall have good news this morning, I hope."
"It is to be desired," said the secretary, as humble and submissive as
he was laconic and impassible.
"Certainly it is to be desired," resumed his master; "for one of
the brightest days of my life was when the Princess de Saint-Dizier
announced to me that this sudden and dangerous illness had yielded to
the care and attention with which she surrounds my mother. Had it not
been for that I must have gone down to her instantly, though my presence
here is very necessary."
Then, approaching the desk, he added: "Is the summary of the foreign
correspondence complete?"
"Here is the analysis."
"The letters are still sent under envelope to the places named, and are
then brought here as I directed?"
"Always."
"Read to me the notes of this correspondence; if there are any letters
for me to answer, I will tell you." And Rodin's master began to walk
up and down the room, with his hands crossed behind his back, dictating
observations of which Rodin took careful note.
The secretary turned to a pretty large pile of papers, and thus began:
"Don Raymond Olivarez acknowledges from Cadiz receipt of letter No.19;
he will conform to it, and deny all share in the abduction."
"Very well; file it."
"Count Romanoff, of Riga, finds himself in a position of pecuniary
embarrassment."
"Let Duplessis send him fifty louis; I formerly served as captain in his
regiment, and he has since given us good information."
"They have received at Philadelphia the last cargo of Histories of
France, expurgated for the use of the faithful they require some more of
the same sort."
"Take note of it, and write to Duplessis. Go on."
"M. Spindler sends from Namur the secret report on M. Ardouin."
"To be examined."
"M. Ardouin sends from the same town the secret report on M. Spindler."
"To be examined."
"Doctor Van Ostadt, of the same town, sends a confidential note on the
subject of Messrs. Spindler and Ardouin."
"To be compared. Go on!"
"Count Malipierri, of Turin, announces that the donation of 300,000
francs is signed."
"Inform Duplessis. What next?"
"Don Stanislaus has just quitted the waters of Baden with Queen Marie
Ernestine. He informs us that her majesty will receive with gratitude
the promised advices, and will answer them with her own hand."
"Make a note of it. I will myself write to the queen."
Whilst Rodin was inscribing a few remarks on the margin of the paper,
his master, continuing to walk up and down the room, found himself
opposite to the globe marked with little red crosses, and stood
contemplating it for a moment with a pensive air.
Rodin continued: "In consequence of the state of the public mind in
certain parts of Italy, where sundry agitators have turned their eyes in
the direction of France, Father Arsenio writes from Milan, that it would
be of importance to distribute profusely in that country, some little
book, in which the French would be represented as impious and debauched,
rapacious and bloody."
"The idea is excellent. We might turn to good account the excesses
committed by our troops in Italy during the wars of the Republic. You
must employ Jacques Dumoulin to write it. He is full of gall, spite,
and venom: the pamphlet will be scorching. Besides, I may furnish a
few notes; but you must not pay Dumoulin till after delivery of the
manuscript."
"That is well understood: for, if we were to pay him beforehand, he