The Wandering Jew — Complete

"First of all, to clear myself of suspicion with regard to the letters; then, to excite the rage of the marshal to madness, by incessantly reminding him of the just grounds he has to hate you, and of the impossibility of being avenged upon you. This, joined to the other emotions of sorrow and anger, which ferment in the savage bosom of this man of bloodshed, tended to urge him on to the rash enterprise, which is the consequence and the punishment of his idolatry for a miserable usurper." "That may be," said Father d'Aigrigny, with an air of constraint: "but I will observe to your reverence, that it was, perhaps, rather dangerous thus to excite Marshal Simon against me." "Why?" asked Rodin, as he fixed a piercing look upon Father d'Aigrigny. "Because the marshal, excited beyond all bounds, and remembering only our mutual hate, might seek me out--" "Well! and what then?" "Well! he might forget that I am a priest--" "Oh, you are afraid are you?" said Rodin, disdainfully, interrupting Father d'Aigrigny. At the words: "You are afraid," the reverend father almost started from his chair; but recovering his coolness, he answered: "Your reverence is right; yes, I should be afraid under such circumstances; I should be afraid of forgetting that I am a priest, and of remembering too well that I have been a soldier." "Really?" said Rodin, with sovereign contempt. "You are still no further than that stupid and savage point of honor? Your cassock has not yet extinguished the warlike fire? So that if this brawling swordsman, whose poor, weak head, empty and sonorous as a drum, is so easily turned with the stupid jargon of 'Military honor, oaths, Napoleon II.'--if this brawling bravo, I say, were to commit some violence against you, it would require a great effort, I suppose, for you to remain calm?" "It is useless, I think," said Father d'Aigrigny, quite unable to control his agitation, "for your reverence to enter upon such questions." "As your superior," answered Rodin, severely, "I have the right to ask. If Marshal Simon had lifted his hand against you--" "Sir," cried the reverend father. "There are no sirs here--we are only priests," said Rodin, harshly. Father d'Aigrigny held down his head, scarcely able to repress his rage. "I ask you," continued Rodin, obstinately, "if Marshal Simon had struck you? Is that clear?" "Enough! in mercy," said Father d'Aigrigny, "enough!" "Or, if you like it better, had Marshal Simon left the marks of his fingers on your cheek?" resumed Rodin, with the utmost pertinacity. Father d'Aigrigny, pale as death, ground his teeth in a kind of fury at the very idea of such an insult, while Rodin, who had no doubt his object in asking the question, raised his flabby eyelids, and seemed to watch attentively the significant symptoms revealed in the agitated countenance of the ex-colonel. At length, recovering partly his presence of mind, Father d'Aigrigny replied, in a forcedly calm tone: "If I were to be exposed to such an insult, I would pray heaven to give me resignation and humility." "And no doubt heaven would hear your prayers," said Rodin, coldly, satisfied with the trial to which he had just put him. "Besides, you are now warned, and it is not very probable," added he, with a grim smile, "that Marshal Simon will ever return to test your humility. But if he were to return," said Rodin, fixing on the reverend father a long and piercing look, "you would know how to show this brutal swordsman, in spite of all his violence, what resignation and humility there is in a Christian soul!" Two humble knocks at the door here interrupted the conversation for a moment. A footman entered, bearing a large sealed packet on a salver, which he presented to the princess. After this, he withdrew. Princess de Saint-Dizier, having by a look asked Rodin's permission to open the letter, began to read it--and a cruel satisfaction was soon visible on her face. "There is hope," cried she addressing herself to Rodin: "the demand is rigorously legal, and the consequence may be such as we desire. In a word, my niece may, any day, be exposed to complete destitution. She, who is so extravagant! what a change in her life!" "We shall then no doubt have some hold on that untamable character," said Rodin with a meditative air; "for, till now, all has failed in that direction, and one would suppose some kinds of happiness are invulnerable," added the Jesuit, gnawing his flat and dirty nails. "But, to obtain the result we desire, we must exasperate my niece's pride. It is, therefore, absolutely necessary, that I should see and talk to her," said the Princess de Saint-Dizier, reflecting. "Mdlle. de Cardoville will refuse this interview," said Father d'Aigrigny. "Perhaps," replied the princess. "But she is so happy that her audacity must be at its height. Yes, yes--I know her--and I will write in such a manner, that she will come." "You think so?" asked Rodin, with a doubtful air. "Do not fear it, father," answered the lady, "she will come. And her pride once brought into play, we may hope a good deal from it." "We must then act, lady," resumed Rodin; "yes, act promptly. The moment approaches. Hate and suspicion are awake. There is not a moment to lose." "As for hate," replied the princess, "Mdlle. de Cardoville must have seen to what her lawsuit would lead, about what she called her illegal detention in a lunatic asylum, and that of the two young ladies in St. Mary's Convent. Thank heaven, we have friends everywhere! I know from good authority, that the case will break down from want of evidence, in spite of the animosity of certain parliamentary magistrates, who shall be well remembered." "Under these circumstances," replied Rodin, "the departure of the marshal gives us every latitude. We must act immediately on his daughters." "But how?" said the princess. "We must see them," resumed Rodin, "talk with them, study them. Then we shall act in consequence." "But the soldier will not leave them a second," said Father d'Aigrigny. "Then," replied Rodin, "we must talk to them in presence of the soldier, and get him on our side." "That hope is idle," cried Father d'Aigrigny. "You do not know the military honor of his character. You do not know this man." "Don't I know him?" said Rodin, shrugging his shoulders. "Did not Mdlle. de Cardoville present me to him as her liberator, when I denounced you as the soul of the conspiracy? Did I not restore to him his ridiculous imperial relic--his cross of honor--when we met at Dr. Baleinier's? Did I not bring him back the girls from the convent, and place them in the arms of their father?" "Yes," replied the princess; "but, since that time, my abominable niece has either guessed or discovered all. She told you so herself, father." "She told me, that she considered me her most mortal enemy," said Rodin. "Be it so. But did she tell the same to the marshal? Has she ever mentioned me to him? and if she have done so, has the marshal communicated this circumstance to his soldier? It may be so; but it is by no means sure; in any case. I must ascertain the fact; if the soldier treats me as an enemy, we shall see what is next to be done--but I will first try to be received as a friend." "When?" asked the princess. "To-morrow morning," replied Rodin. "Good heaven, my clear father!" cried the Princess de Saint-Dizier, in alarm; "if this soldier were to treat you as an enemy--beware--" "I always beware, madame. I have had to face worse enemies than he is," said the Jesuit showing his black teeth; "the cholera to begin with." "But he may refuse to see you, and in what way will you then get at Marshal Simon's daughters?" said Father d'Aigrigny. "I do not yet know." answered Rodin. "But as I intend to do it, I shall find the means." "Father," said the princess, suddenly, on reflection, "these girls have never seen me, and I might obtain admittance to them, without sending in my name." "That would be perfectly useless at present, madame, for I must first know what course to take with respect to them. I must see and converse with them, at any cost, and then, after I have fixed my plan, your assistance may be very useful. In any case, please to be ready to morrow, madame, to accompany me." "To what place, father?" "To Marshal Simon's." "To the marshal's?" "Not exactly. You will get into your carriage, and I will take a hackney-coach. I will then try to obtain an interview with the girls, and, during that time, you will wait for me at a few yards from the house. If I succeed, and require your aid, I will come and fetch you; I can give you my instructions without any appearance of concert between us." "I am content, reverend father; but, in truth, I tremble at the thought of your interview with that rough trooper." "The Lord will watch over his servant, madame!" replied Rodin. "As for you, father," added he, addressing the Abbe d'Aigrigny, "despatch instantly to Vienna the note which is all prepared to announce the departure and speedy arrival of the marshal. Every precaution has been taken. I shall write more fully this evening." The next morning, about eight o'clock, the Princess de Saint-Dizier, in her carriage, and Rodin, in his hackney-coach, took the direction of Marshal Simon's house. CHAPTER LIII. HAPPINESS. Marshal Simon has been absent two days. It is eight o'clock in the morning. Dagobert, walking on tip-toe with the greatest caution, so as not to make the floor creak beneath his tread, crosses the room which leads to the bedchamber of Rose and Blanche and applies his ear to the door of the apartment. With equal caution, Spoil-sport follows exactly the movements of his master. The countenance of the soldier is uneasy and full of thought. As he approaches the door, he says to himself: "I hope the dear children heard nothing of what happened in the night! It would alarm them, and it is much better that they should not know it at present. It might afflict them sadly, poor dears! and they are so gay, so happy, since they feel sure of their father's love for them. They bore his departure so bravely! I would not for the world that they should know of this unfortunate event." Then as he listened, the soldier resumed: "I hear nothing--and yet they are always awake so early. Can it be sorrow?" Dagobert's reflections were here interrupted by two frank, hearty bursts of laughter, from the interior of the bedroom. "Come! they are not so sad as I thought," said the soldier, breathing more freely. "Probably they know nothing about it." Soon, the laughter was again heard with redoubled force, and the soldier, delighted at this gayety, so rare on the part of "his children," was much affected by it: the tears started to his eyes at the thought that the orphans had at length recovered the serenity natural to their age; then, passing from one emotion to the other, still listening at the door, with his body leaning forward, and his hands resting on his knees, Dagobert's lip quivered with an expression of mute joy, and, shaking his head a little, he accompanied with his silent laughter, the increasing hilarity of the young girls. At last, as nothing is so contagious as gayety, and as the worthy soldier was in an ecstasy of joy, he finished by laughing aloud with all his might, without knowing why, and only because Rose and Blanche were laughing. Spoil-sport had never seen his master in such a transport of delight; he looked at him for a while in deep and silent astonishment, and then began to bark in a questioning way. At this well-known sound, the laughter within suddenly ceased, and a sweet voice, still trembling with joyous emotion, exclaimed: "Is it you,