The Wandering Jew — Complete
the cholera to die of joy on the first of June."
And, though still frightfully pale, the countenance of the Jesuit shone
with audacious confidence. But now, when Rodin appeared to be quite
recovered, Father Caboccini seemed suddenly transformed. Though short,
fat, and one-eyed, his features assumed on the instant so firm, harsh,
and commanding an expression, that Rodin recoiled a step as he looked at
him. Then Father Caboccini, drawing a paper from his pocket, kissed it
respectfully, glanced sternly at Rodin, and read as follows, in a severe
and menacing tone:
"'On receipt of the present rescript, the Reverend Father Rodin will
deliver up all his powers to the Reverend Father Caboccini, who is
alone commissioned, with the Reverend Father d'Aigrigny, to receive the
inheritance of the Rennepont family, if, in His eternal justice,
the Lord should restore this property, of which our Company has been
wronged.
"'Moreover, on receipt of the present rescript, the Reverend Father
Rodin, in charge of a person to be named by the Reverend Father
Caboccini, shall be conveyed to our house in the Town of Laval, to be
kept in strict seclusion in his cell until further orders.'"
Then Father Caboccini handed the rescript to Rodin, that the latter
might read the signature of the General of the Company. Samuel, greatly
interested by this scene, drew a few steps nearer, leaving the casket
half-open. Suddenly, Rodin burst into a loud laugh--a laugh of joy,
contempt and triumph, impossible to describe. Father Caboccini looked
at him with angry astonishment; when Rodin, growing still more imperious
and haughty, and with an air of more sovereign disdain than ever, pushed
aside the paper with the back of his dirty hand and said: "What is the
date of that scribble?"
"The eleventh of May," answered Father Caboccini in amazement.
"Here is a brief, that I received last night from Rome, under date of
the eighteenth. It informs me that I am appointed GENERAL OF THE ORDER.
Read!"
Father Caboccini took the paper, read it, and remained thunderstruck.
Then, returning it humbly to Rodin, he respectfully bent his knee before
him. Thus seemed the ambitious views of Rodin accomplished. In spite of
the hatred and suspicion of that party, of which Cardinal Malipieri was
the representative and the chief, Rodin, by address and craft, audacity
and persuasion, and in consequence of the high esteem in which his
partisans at Rome held his rare capacity, had succeeded in deposing his
General, and in procuring his own elevation to that eminent post. Now,
according to his calculation, aided by the millions he was about to
possess, it would be but one step from that post to the pontifical
throne. A mute witness of this scene, Samuel smiled also with an air of
triumph, as he closed the casket by means of the spring known only to
himself. That metallic sound recalled Rodin from the heights of his
mad ambition to the realities of life, and he said to Samuel in a sharp
voice: "You have heard? These millions must be delivered to me alone."
He extended his hands eagerly and impatiently towards the casket, as
if he would have taken possession of it, before the arrival of the
magistrate. Then Samuel in his turn seemed transfigured, and, folding
his arms upon his breast, and drawing up his aged form to its full
height, he assumed a threatening and imposing air. His eyes flashed with
indignation, and he said in a solemn tone: "This fortune--at first the
humble remains of the inheritance of the most noble of men, whom the
plots of the sons of Loyola drove to suicide--this fortune, which has
since become royal in amount, thanks to the sacred probity of three
generations of faithful servants--this fortune shall never be the reward
of falsehood, hypocrisy and murder. No! the eternal justice of heaven
will not allow it."
"On murder? what do you mean, sir?" asked Rodin, boldly.
Samuel made no answer. He stamped his foot, and extended his arm slowly
towards the extremity of the apartment. Then Rodin and Father Caboccini
beheld an awful spectacle. The draperies on the wall were drawn aside,
as if by an invisible hand. Round a funeral vault, faintly illumined-by
the bluish light of a silver lamp, six dead bodies were ranged
upon black biers, dressed in long black robes. They were: Jacques
Rennepont--Francois Hardy--Rose and Blanche Simon--Adrienne and Djalma.
They appeared to be asleep. Their eyelids were closed, their hands
crossed over their breasts. Father Caboccini, trembling in every limb,
made the sign of the cross, and retreating to the opposite wall, buried
his face in his hands. Rodin on the contrary, with agitated countenance,
staring eyes, and hair standing on end, yielding to an invincible
attraction, advanced towards those inanimate forms. One would have said
that these last of the Renneponts had only just expired. They seemed to
be in the first hour of the eternal sleep.(44)
"Behold those whom thou host slain!" cried Samuel, in a voice broken
with sobs. "Yea! your detestable plots caused their death--and, as they
fell one by one, it was my pious care to obtain possession of their
poor remains, that they may all repose in the same sepulchre.
Oh!--cursed--cursed--cursed--be thou who has killed them! But their
spoils shall escape thy murderous hands."
Rodin, still drawn forward in spite of himself, had approached the
funeral couch of Djalma. Surmounting his first alarm, the Jesuit, to
assure himself that he was not the sport of frightful dream, ventured
to touch the hands of the Asiatic--and found that they were damp and
pliant, though cold as ice.
The Jesuit drew back in horror. For some seconds, he trembled
convulsively. But, his first amazement over, reflection returned, and,
with reflection came that invincible energy, that infernal obstinacy of
character, that gave him so much power. Steadying himself on his legs,
drawing his hand across his brow, raising his head, moistening his lips
two or three times before he spoke--for his throat and mouth grew
ever drier and hotter, without his being able to explain the cause--he
succeeded in giving to his features an imperious and ironical
expression, and, turning towards Samuel, who wept in silence, he said to
him, in a hoarse, guttural voice: "I need not show you the certificates
of their death. There they are in person." And he pointed with his bony
hand to the six dead bodies.
At these words of his General, Father Caboccini again made the sign of
the cross, as if he had seen a fiend.
"Oh, my God!" cried Samuel; "Thou hast quite abandoned this man. With
what a calm look he contemplates his victims!"
"Come, sir!" said Rodin, with a horrid smile; "this is a natural waxwork
exhibition, that is all. My calmness proves my innocence--and we had
best come at once to business. I have an appointment at two o'clock. So
let us carry down this casket."
He advanced towards the marble slab. Seized with indignation and horror,
Samuel threw himself before him, and, pressing with all his might on a
knob in the lid of the casket--a knob which yielded to the pressure--he
exclaimed: "Since your infernal soul is incapable of remorse, it may
perhaps be shaken by disappointed avarice."
"What does he say?" cried Rodin. "What is he doing?"
"Look!" said Samuel, in his turn assuming an air of savage triumph. "I
told you, that the spoils of your victims should escape your murderous
hands."
Hardly had he uttered these words, before through the open-work of the
iron casket rose a light cloud of smoke, and an odor as of burnt paper
spread itself through the room. Rodin understood it instantly. "Fire!"
he exclaimed, as he rushed forward to seize the casket. It had been made
fast to the heavy marble slab.
"Yes, fire," said Samuel. "In a few minutes, of that immense treasure
there will remain nothing but ashes. And better so, than that it should
belong to you or yours. This treasure is not mine, and it only remains
for me to destroy it--since Gabriel de Rennepont will be faithful to the
oath he has taken."
"Help! water! water!" cried Rodin, as he covered the casket with his
body, trying in vain to extinguish the flames, which, fanned by the
current of air, now issued from the thousand apertures in the lid; but
soon the intensity of the fire diminished, a few threads of bluish smoke
alone mounted upwards--and then, all was extinct.
The work was done! Breathless and faint, Rodin leaned against the marble
slab. For the first time in his life, he wept; large tears of rage
rolled down his cadaverous cheeks. But suddenly, dreadful pains, at
first dull, but gradually augmenting in intensity, seized on him with so
much fury, though he employed all his energy to struggle against them,
that he fell on his knees, and, pressing his two hands to his chest,
murmured with an attempt to smile: "It is nothing. Do not be alarmed. A
few spasms--that is all. The treasure is destroyed--but I remain General
of the Order. Oh! I suffer. What a furnace!" he added, writhing in
agony. "Since I entered this cursed house, I know not what ails me.
If--I had not lived on roots--water--bread--which I go myself to buy--I
should think--I was poisoned--for I triumph--and Cardinal Malipieri has
long arms. Yes--I still triumph--for I will not die--this time no more
than the other--I will not die!"
Then, as he stretched out his arms convulsively, he continued: "It is
fire that devours my entrails. No doubt, they have tried to poison me.
But when? but how?"
After another pause, Rodin again cried out, in a stifled voice: "Help!
help me, you that stand looking on--like, spectres!--Help me, I say!"
Horror-struck at this dreadful agony, Samuel and Father Caboccini were
unable to stir.
"Help!" repeated Rodin, in a tone of strangulation, "This poison is
horrible.--But how--" Then, with a terrific cry of rage, as if a sudden
idea had struck him, he exclaimed: "Ha! Faringhea--this morning--the
holy water--he knows such subtle poisons. Yes--it is he--he had an
interview with Malipieri. The demon!--Oh! it was well played. The
Borgias are still the same. Oh! it is all over. I die. They will regret
me, the fools!--Oh! hell! hell! The Church knows not its loss--but I
burn--help!"
They came to his assistance. Quick steps were heard upon the stairs, and
Dr. Baleinier, followed by the Princess de Saint-Dizier, appeared at the
entrance of the Hall of Mourning. The princess had learned vaguely that
morning the death of Father d'Aigrigny, and had come to question Rodin
upon the subject. When this woman, entering the room, suddenly saw the
frightful spectacle that offered itself to her view--when she saw
Rodin writhing in horrible agony, and, further on, by the light of the
sepulchral lamp, those six corpses--and, amongst them, her own niece,
and the two orphans whom she had sent to meet their death--she stood
petrified with horror, and her reason was unable to withstand the shock.
She looked slowly round her, and then raised her arms on high, and burst
into a wild fit of laughter. She had gone mad. Whilst Dr. Baleinier
supported the head of Rodin, who expired in his arms, Faringhea appeared
at the door; remaining in the shade, he cast a ferocious glance at
the corpse of the Jesuit. "He would have made himself the chief of the
Company of Jesus, to destroy it," said he; "with me, the Company of
Jesus stands in the place of Bowanee. I have obeyed the cardinal!"
(44) Should this appear incredible, we would remind the reader of
the marvellous discoveries in the art of embalming--particularly Dr.
Gannal's.
EPILOGUE.
CHAPTER I. FOUR YEARS AFTER.
Four years had elapsed, since the events we have just related,
when Gabriel de Rennepont wrote the following letter to Abbe Joseph