The Wandering Jew — Complete
shall give full particulars tomorrow."
When he had read these lines, Father d'Aigrigny threw down the paper and
remained in deep thought.
"It is incredible," said he, with bitter envy, in allusion to Rodin. "He
has attained his end. Hardly one of his anticipations has been defeated.
This family is annihilated, by the mere play of the passions, good and
evil that he has known how to set in motion. He said it would be so.
Oh! I must confess," added Father d'Aigrigny, with a jealous and hateful
smile, "that Rodin is a man of rare dissimulation, patience, energy,
obstinacy and intelligence. Who would have told a few months ago, when
he wrote under my orders, a discreet and humble socius, that he had
already conceived the most audacious ambition, and dared to lift his
eyes to the Holy See itself? that, thanks to intrigues and corruption,
pursued with wondrous ability, these views were not so unreasonable?
Nay, that this infernal ambition would soon be realized, were it not
that the secret proceedings of this dangerous man have long been as
secretly watched?--Ah!" sneered Father d'Aigrigny, with a smile of
irony and triumph, "you wish to be a second Sixtus V., do you? And,
not content with this audacious pretension, you mean, if successful, to
absorb our Company in the Papacy, even as the Sultan has absorbed the
Janissaries. Ah! You would make us your stepping-stone to power! And you
have thought to humiliate and crush me with your insolent disdain! But
patience, patience: the day of retribution approaches. I alone am the
depository of our General's will. Father Caboccini himself does not
know that. The fate of Rodin is in my hands. Oh! it will not be what he
expects. In this Rennepont affair (which, I must needs confess, he has
managed admirably), he thinks to outwit us all, and to work only for
himself. But to-morrow--"
Father d'Aigrigny was suddenly disturbed in these agreeable reflections.
He heard the door of the next room open, and, as he turned round to see
who was coming, the door of the apartment in which he was turned upon
its hinges. Father d'Aigrigny started with surprise, and became almost
purple. Marshal Simon stood before him. And, behind the marshal, in the
shadow of the door, Father d'Aigrigny perceived the cadaverous face
of Rodin. The latter cast on him one glance of diabolical delight, and
instantly disappeared. The door was again closed, and Father d'Aigrigny
and Marshal Simon were left alone together. The father of Rose and
Blanche was hardly recognizable. His gray hair had become completely
white. His pale, thin face had not been shaved for some days. His hollow
eyes were bloodshot and restless, and had in them something wild and
haggard. He was wrapped in a large cloak, and his black cravat was tied
loosely about his neck. In withdrawing from the apartment, Rodin had (as
if by inadvertence) double-locked the door on the outside. When he
was alone with the Jesuit, the marshal threw back his cloak from his
shoulders, and Father d'Aigrigny could see two naked swords, stuck
through a silk handkerchief which served him as a belt.
Father d'Aigrigny understood it all. He remembered how, a few days
before, Rodin had obstinately pressed him to say what he would do if the
marshal were to strike him in the face. There could be no doubt that
he, who thought to have held the fate of Rodin in his hands, had been
brought by the latter into a fearful peril; for he knew that, the two
outer rooms being closed, there was no possibility of making himself
heard, and that the high walls of the garden only bordered upon some
vacant lots. The first thought which occurred to him, one by no means
destitute of probability, was that Rodin, either by his agents at Rome,
or by his own incredible penetration, had learned that his fate
depended on Father d'Aigrigny, and hoped therefore to get rid of him,
by delivering him over to the inexorable vengeance of the father of
Rose and Blanche. Without speaking a word, the marshal unbound the
handkerchief from his waist, laid the two swords upon the table,
and, folding his arms upon his breast, advanced slowly towards Father
d'Aigrigny. Thus these two men, who through life had pursued each other
with implacable hatred, at length met face to face--they, who had fought
in hostile armies, and measured swords in single combat, and one of whom
now came to seek vengeance for the death of his children. As the marshal
approached, Father d'Aigrigny rose from his seat. He wore that day a
black cassock, which rendered still more visible the pale hue, which had
now succeeded to the sudden flush on his cheek. For a few seconds, the
two men stood face to face without speaking. The marshal was terrific
in his paternal despair. His calmness, inexorable as fate, was more
impressive than the most furious burst of anger.
"My children are dead," said he at last, in a slow and hollow tone. "I
come to kill you."
"Sir," cried Father d'Aigrigny, "listen to me. Do not believe--"
"I must kill you," resumed the marshal, interrupting the Jesuit; "your
hate followed my wife into exile, where she perished. You and your
accomplices sent my children to certain death. For twenty years you have
been my evil genius. I must have your life, and I will have it."
"My life belongs, first, to God," answered Father d'Aigrigny, piously,
"and then to who likes to take it."
"We will fight to the death in this room," said the marshal; "and, as I
have to avenge my wife and children, I am tranquil as to the result."
"Sir," answered Father d'Aigrigny, coldly, "you forget that my
profession forbids me to fight. Once I accepted your challenge--but my
position is changed since then."
"Ah!" said the marshal, with a bitter smile; "you refuse to fight
because you are a priest?"
"Yes, sir--because I am a priest."
"So that, because he is a priest, a wretch like you may commit any
crime, any baseness, under shelter of his black gown?"
"I do not understand a word of your accusations. In any case, the law is
open," said Father d'Aigrigny, biting his pale lips, for he felt deeply
the insult offered by the marshal; "if you have anything to complain of,
appeal to that law, before which all are equal."
Marshal Simon shrugged his shoulders in angry disdain. "Your crimes
escape the law--and, could it even reach you, that would not satisfy my
vengeance, after all the evil you have done me, after all you have taken
from me," said the marshal; and, at the memory of his children, his
voice slightly trembled; but he soon proceeded, with terrible calmness:
"You must feel that I now only live for vengeance. And I must have
such revenge as is worth the seeking--I must have your coward's heart
palpitating on the point of my sword. Our last duel was play; this will
be earnest--oh! you shall see."
The marshal walked up to the table, where he had laid the two swords.
Father d'Aigrigny needed all his resolution to restrain himself. The
implacable hate which he had always felt for Marshal Simon, added to
these insults, filled him with savage ardor. Yet he answered, in a tone
that was still calm: "For the last time, sir, I repeat to you, that my
profession forbids me to fight."
"Then you refuse?" said the marshal, turning abruptly towards him.
"I refuse."
"Positively?"
"Positively. Nothing on earth should force me to it."
"Nothing."
"No, sir; nothing."
"We shall see," said the marshal, as his hand fell with its full force
on the cheek of Father d'Aigrigny.
The Jesuit uttered a cry of fury; all his blood rushed to his face, so
roughly handled; the courage of the man (for he was brave), his ancient
military ardor, carried him away; his eyes sparkled, and, with teeth
firmly set, and clenched fists, he advanced towards the marshal,
exclaiming: "The swords! the swords!"
But suddenly, remembering the appearance of Rodin, and the interest
which the latter had in bringing about this encounter, he determined to
avoid the diabolical snare laid by his former socius, and so gathered
sufficient resolution to restrain his terrible resentment.
To his passing fury succeeded a calm, full of contrition; and, wishing
to play his part out to the end, he knelt down, and bowing his head
and beating his bosom, repeated: "Forgive me, Lord, for yielding to a
movement of rage! and, above all, forgive him who has injured me!"
In spite of his apparent resignation, the Jesuit's voice was neatly
agitated. He seemed to feel a hot iron upon his cheek, for never before
in his life, whether as a soldier or a priest, had he suffered such
an insult. He had thrown himself upon his knees, partly from religious
mummery, and partly to avoid the gaze of the marshal, fearing that, were
he to meet his eye, he should not be able to answer for himself, but
give way to his impetuous feelings. On seeing the Jesuit kneel down, and
on hearing his hypocritical invocation, the marshal, whose sword was in
his hand, shook with indignation.
"Stand up, scoundrel!" he said, "stand up, wretch!" And he spurned the
Jesuit with his boot.
At this new insult, Father d'Aigrigny leaped up, as if he had been moved
by steel springs. It was too much; he could bear no more. Blinded with
rage, he rushed to the able, caught up the other sword, and exclaimed,
grinding his teeth together: "Ah! you will have blood. Well then! it
shall be yours--if possible!"
And the Jesuit, still in all the vigor of manhood, his face purple, his
large gray eyes sparkling with hate, fell upon his guard with the ease
and skill of a finished swordsman.
"At last!" cried the marshal, as their blades were about to cross.
But once more reflection came to damp the fire of the Jesuit. He
remembered how this hazardous duel would gratify the wishes of Rodin,
whose fate was in his hands, and whom he hated perhaps even more than
the marshal. Therefore, in spite of the fury which possessed him,
in spite of his secret hope to conquer in this combat, so strong and
healthy did he feel himself, and so fatal had been the effects of grief
on the constitution of Marshal Simon, he succeeded in mastering his
rage, and, to the amazement of the marshal, dropped the point of his
sword, exclaiming: "I am a minister of the Lord, and must not shed
blood. Forgive ne, heaven! and, oh! forgive my brother also."
Then placing the blade beneath his heel, he drew the hilt suddenly
towards him, and broke the weapon into two pieces. The duel was no
longer possible. Father d'Aigrigny had put it out of his own power to
yield to a new burst of violence, of which he saw the imminent danger.
Marshal Simon remained for an instant mute and motionless with surprise
and indignation, for he also saw that the duel was now impossible. But,
suddenly, imitating the Jesuit, the marshal placed his blade also
under his heel, broke it in half, and picking up the pointed end, about
eighteen inches in length tore off his black silk cravat, rolled
it round the broken part so as to form a handle, and said to Father
d'Aigrigny: "Then we will fight with daggers."
Struck with this mixture of coolness and ferocity, the Jesuit exclaimed:
"Is this then a demon of hell?"
"No; it is a father, whose children have been murdered," said the
marshal, in a hollow voice, whilst he fitted the blade to his hand, and
a tear stood in the eye, that instantly after became fierce and ardent.
The Jesuit saw that tear. There was in this mixture of vindictive rage
and paternal grief something so awful, and yet so sacred, that for the
first time in his life Father d'Aigrigny felt fear--cowardly, ignoble
fear--fear for his own safety. While a combat with swords was in
question, in which skill, agility, and experience are such powerful
auxiliaries to courage, his only difficulty had been to repress the