The Wandering Jew — Complete
the young Indian can be in France by the 13th of next February. You see,
therefore, that, even as you ordered, so have I acted according to the
means at my disposal--considering only the end which justifies them--for
you tell me a great interest of the society is concerned.
"In your hands, I have been what we all ought to be in the hands of our
superiors--a mere instrument: since, for the greater glory of God, we
become corpses with regard to the will.(7) Men may deny our unity
and power, and the times appear opposed to us; but circumstances only
change; we are ever the same.
"Obedience and courage, secrecy and patience, craft and audacity, union
and devotion--these become us, who have the world for our country, our
brethren for family, Rome for our Queen!
"J. V."
About ten o'clock in the morning, Mahal the Smuggler set out with this
despatch (sealed) in his possession, to board the "Ruyter." An hour
later, the dead body of this same Mahal, strangled by Thuggee, lay
concealed beneath some reeds on the edge of a desert strand, whither he
had gone to take boat to join the vessel.
When at a subsequent period, after the departure of the steamship,
they found the corpse of the smuggler, M. Joshua sought in vain for the
voluminous packet, which he had entrusted to his care. Neither was there
any trace of the note which Mahal was to have delivered to the captain
of the "Ruyter," in order to be received as passenger.
Finally, the searches and bushwhacking ordered throughout the country
for the purpose of discovering Faringhea, were of no avail. The
dangerous chief of the Stranglers was never seen again in Java.
(7) It is known that the doctrine of passive and absolute obedience,
the main-spring of the Society of Jesus, is summed up in those terrible
words of the dying Loyola: "Every member of the Order shall be, in the
hands of his superiors, even as a corpse (Perinde ac Cadaver)."--E. S.
CHAPTER XXIII. M. RODIN.
Three months have elapsed since Djalma was thrown into Batavia Prison
accused of belonging to the murderous gang of Megpunnas. The following
scene takes place in France, at the commencement of the month of
February, 1832, in Cardoville Manor House, an old feudal habitation
standing upon the tall cliffs of Picardy, not far from Saint Valery,
a dangerous coast on which almost every year many ships are totally
wrecked, being driven on shore by the northwesters, which render the
navigation of the Channel so perilous.
From the interior of the Castle is heard the howling of a violent
tempest, which has arisen during the night; a frequent formidable
noise, like the discharge of artillery, thunders in the distance, and
is repeated by the echoes of the shore; it is the sea breaking with fury
against the high rocks which are overlooked by the ancient Manor House.
It is about seven o'clock in the morning. Daylight is not yet visible
through the windows of a large room situated on the ground-floor. In
this apartment, in which a lamp is burning, a woman of about sixty years
of age, with a simple and honest countenance, dressed as a rich
farmer's wife of Picardy, is already occupied with her needle-work,
notwithstanding the early hour. Close by, the husband of this woman,
about the same age as herself, is seated at a large table, sorting and
putting up in bags divers samples of wheat and oats. The face of this
white-haired man is intelligent and open, announcing good sense
and honesty, enlivened by a touch of rustic humor; he wears a
shooting-jacket of green cloth, and long gaiters of tan-colored leather,
which half conceal his black velveteen breeches.
The terrible storm which rages without renders still more agreeable
the picture of this peaceful interior. A rousing fire burns in a broad
chimney-place faced with white marble, and throws its joyous light on
the carefully polished floor; nothing can be more cheerful than the old
fashioned chintz hangings and curtains with red Chinese figures upon a
white ground, and the panels over the door painted with pastoral scenes
in the style of Watteau. A clock of Sevres china, and rosewood furniture
inlaid with green--quaint and portly furniture, twisted into all sorts
of grotesque shapes--complete the decorations of this apartment.
Out-doors, the gale continued to howl furiously, and sometimes a gust
of wind would rush down the chimney, or shake the fastenings of the
windows. The man who was occupied in sorting the samples of grain was M.
Dupont, bailiff of Cardoville manor.
"Holy Virgin!" said his wife; "what dreadful weather, my dear! This
M. Rodin, who is to come here this morning, as the Princess de Saint
Dizier's steward announced to us, picked out a very bad day for it."
"Why, in truth, I have rarely heard such a hurricane. If M. Rodin has
never seen the sea in its fury, he may feast his eyes to-day with the
sight."
"What can it be that brings this M. Rodin, my dear?"
"Faith! I know nothing about it. The steward tells me in his letter to
show M. Rodin the greatest attention, and to obey him as if he were my
master. It will be for him to explain himself, and for me to execute his
orders, since he comes on the part of the princess."
"By rights he should come from Mademoiselle Adrienne, as the land
belongs to her since the death of the duke her father."
"Yes; but the princess being aunt to the young lady, her steward manages
Mademoiselle Adrienne's affairs--so whether one or the other, it amounts
to the same thing."
"May be M. Rodin means to buy the estate. Though, to be sure, that
stout lady who came from Paris last week on purpose to see the chateau
appeared to have a great wish for it."
At these words the bailiff began to laugh with a sly look.
"What is there to laugh at, Dupont?" asked his wife, a very good
creature, but not famous for intelligence or penetration.
"I laugh," answered Dupont, "to think of the face and figure of that
enormous woman: with such a look, who the devil would call themselves
Madame de la Sainte-Colombe--Mrs. Holy Dove? A pretty saint, and a
pretty dove, truly! She is round as a hogshead, with the voice of a
town-crier; has gray moustachios like an old grenadier, and without
her knowing it, I heard her say to her servant: 'Stir your stumps, my
hearty!'--and yet she calls herself Sainte-Colombe!"
"How hard on her you are, Dupont; a body don't choose one's name. And,
if she has a beard, it is not the lady's fault."
"No--but it is her fault to call herself Sainte-Colombe. Do you imagine
it her true name? Ah, my poor Catherine, you are yet very green in some
things."
"While you, my poor Dupont, are well read in slander! This lady seems
very respectable. The first thing she asked for on arriving was the
chapel of the Castle, of which she had heard speak. She even said that
she would make some embellishments in it; and, when I told her we had
no church in this little place, she appeared quite vexed not to have a
curate in the village."
"Oh, to be sure! that's the first thought of your upstarts--to play the
great lady of the parish, like your titled people."
"Madame de la Sainte-Colombe need not play the great lady, because she
is one."
"She! a great lady? Oh, lor'!"
"Yes--only see how she was dressed, in scarlet gown, and violet gloves
like a bishop's; and, when she took off her bonnet, she had a diamond
band round her head-dress of false, light hair, and diamond ear-drops
as large as my thumb, and diamond rings on every finger! None of your
tuppenny beauties would wear so many diamonds in the middle of the day."
"You are a pretty judge!"
"That is not all."
"Do you mean to say there's more?"
"She talked of nothing but dukes, and marquises, and counts, and very
rich gentlemen, who visit at her house, and are her most intimate
friends; and then, when she saw the summer house in the park, half-burnt
by the Prussians, which our late master never rebuilt, she asked, 'What
are those ruins there?' and I answered: 'Madame, it was in the time of
the Allies that the pavilion was burnt.'--'Oh, my clear,' cried she;
'our allies, good, dear allies! they and the Restoration began my
fortune!' So you see, Dupont, I said to myself directly: 'She was no
doubt one of the noble women who fled abroad--'"
"Madame de la Sainte-Colombe!" cried the bailiff, laughing heartily.
"Oh, my poor, poor wife!"
"Oh, it is all very well; but because you have been three years at
Paris, don't think yourself a conjurer!"
"Catherine, let's drop it: you will make me say some folly, and there
are certain things which dear, good creatures like you need never know."
"I cannot tell what you are driving at, only try to be less
slanderous--for, after all, should Madame de la Sainte-Colombe buy the
estate, will you be sorry to remain as her bailiff, eh?"
"Not I--for we are getting old, my good Catherine; we have lived here
twenty years, and we have been too honest to provide for our old days
by pilfering--and truly, at our age, it would be hard to seek another
place, which perhaps we should not find. What I regret is, that
Mademoiselle Adrienne should not keep the land; it seems that she wished
to sell it, against the will of the princess."
"Good gracious, Dupont! is it not very extraordinary that Mademoiselle
Adrienne should have the disposal of her large fortune so early in
life?"
"Faith! simple enough. Our young lady, having no father or mother, is
mistress of her property, besides having a famous little will of her
own. Dost remember, ten years ago, when the count brought her down here
one summer?--what an imp of mischief! and then what eyes! eh?--how they
sparkled, even then!"
"It is true that Mademoiselle Adrienne had in her look--an expression--a
very uncommon expression for her age."
"If she has kept what her witching, luring face promised, she must be
very pretty by this time, notwithstanding the peculiar color of her
hair--for, between ourselves, if she had been a tradesman's daughter,
instead of a young lady of high birth, they would have called it red."
"There again! more slander."
"What! against Mademoiselle Adrienne? Heaven forbid--I always thought
that she would be as good as pretty, and it is not speaking ill of her
to say she has red hair. On the contrary, it always appears to me so
fine, so bright, so sunny, and to suit so well her snowy complexion and
black eyes, that in truth I would not have had it other than it was;
and I am sure, that now this very color of her hair, which would be
a blemish in any one else, must only add to the charm of Mademoiselle
Adrienne's face. She must have such a sweet vixen look!"
"Oh! to be candid, she really was a vixen--always running about the
park, aggravating her governess, climbing the trees--in fact, playing
all manner of naughty tricks."
"I grant you, Mademoiselle Adrienne was a chip of the old block; but
then what wit, what engaging ways, and above all, what a good heart!"
"Yes--that she certainly had. Once I remember she gave her shawl and
her new merino frock to a poor little beggar girl, and came back to the
house in her petticoat, and bare arms."
"Oh, an excellent heart--but headstrong--terribly headstrong!"
"Yes--that she was; and 'tis likely to finish badly, for it seems that
she does things at Paris--oh! such things--"
"What things?"
"Oh, my dear; I can hardly venture--"
"Fell, but what are they?"
"Why," said the worthy dame, with a sort of embarrassment and confusion,
which showed how much she was shocked by such enormities, "they say,
that Mademoiselle Adrienne never sets foot in a church, but lives in a
kind of heathen temple in her aunt's garden, where she has masked women
to dress her up like a goddess, and scratches them very often, because