The Wandering Jew — Complete
of her soul--Madame de la Sainte-Colombe is now in a likely way
to experience grace--which renders her, as I told you, worthy
of veneration, because nothing is so respectable as a sincere
repentance--always providing it to be lasting. Now to make the good work
sure and effectual, we shall need your assistance, my dear M. Dupont."
"Mine, sir! what can I do in it?"
"A great deal; and I will explain to you how. There is no church in this
village, which stands at an equal distance from either of two parishes.
Madame de la Sainte-Colombe, wishing to make choice of one of the two
clergymen, will naturally apply to you and Madame Dupont, who have long
lived in these parts, for information respecting them."
"Oh! in that case the choice will soon be made. The incumbent of
Danicourt is one of the best of men."
"Now that is precisely what you must not say to Madame de la Sainte
Colombe."
"How so?"
"You must, on the contrary, much praise, without ceasing, the curate
of Roiville, the other parish, so as to decide this good lady to trust
herself to his care."
"And why, sir, to him rather than to the other?"
"Why?--because, if you and Madame Dupont succeed in persuading Madame de
la Sainte-Colombe to make the choice I wish, you will be certain to keep
your place as bailiff. I give you my word of it, and what I promise I
perform."
"I do not doubt, sir, that you have this power," said Dupont, convinced
by Rodin's manner, and the authority of his words; "but I should like to
know--"
"One word more," said Rodin, interrupting him; "I will deal openly with
you, and tell you why I insist on the preference which I beg you to
support. I should be grieved if you saw in all this the shadow of an
intrigue. It is only for the purpose of doing a good action. The
curate of Roiville, for whom I ask your influence, is a man for whom M.
d'Aigrigny feels a deep interest. Though very poor, he has to support
an aged mother. Now, if he had the spiritual care of Madame de la Sainte
Colombe, he would do more good than any one else, because he is full
of zeal and patience; and then it is clear he would reap some little
advantages, by which his old mother might profit--there you see is the
secret of this mighty scheme. When I knew that this lady was disposed to
buy an estate in the neighborhood of our friend's parish, I wrote about
it to the marquis; and he, remembering you, desired me to ask you
to render him this small service, which, as you see, will not remain
without a recompense. For I tell you once more, and I will prove it,
that I have the power to keep you in your place as bailiff."
"Well, sir," replied Dupont, after a moment's reflection, "you are so
frank and obliging, that I will imitate your sincerity. In the same
degree that the curate of Danicourt is respected and loved in this
country, the curate of Roiville, whom you wish me to prefer to him, is
dreaded for his intolerance--and, moreover--"
"Well, and what more?"
"Why, then, they say--"
"Come, what do they say?"
"They say--he is a Jesuit."
Upon these words, M. Rodin burst into so hearty a laugh that the bailiff
was quite struck dumb with amazement--for the countenance of M. Rodin
took a singular expression when he laughed. "A Jesuit!" he repeated,
with redoubled hilarity; "a Jesuit!--Now really, my dear M. Dupont, for
a man of sense, experience, and intelligence, how can you believe such
idle stories?--A Jesuit--are there such people as Jesuits?--in our time,
above all, can you believe such romance of the Jacobins, hobgoblins of
the old freedom lovers?--Come, come; I wager, you have read about them
in the Constitutionnel!"
"And yet, sir, they say--"
"Good heavens! what will they not say?--But wise men, prudent men like
you, do not meddle with what is said--they manage their own little
matters, without doing injury to any one, and they never sacrifice, for
the sake of nonsense, a good place, which secures them a comfortable
provision for the rest of their days. I tell you frankly, however much I
may regret it, that should you not succeed in getting the preference for
my man, you will not remain bailiff here.
"But, sir," said poor Dupont, "it will not be my fault, if this lady,
hearing a great deal in praise of the other curate, should prefer him to
your friend."
"Ah! but if, on the other hand, persons who have long lived in the
neighborhood--persons worthy of confidence, whom she will see every
day--tell Madame de la Sainte-Colombe a great deal of good of my friend,
and a great deal of harm of the other curate, she will prefer the
former, and you will continue bailiff."
"But, sir--that would be calumny!" cried Dupont.
"Pshaw, my dear M. Dupont!" said Rodin, with an air of sorrowful and
affectionate reproach, "how can you think me capable of giving you evil
counsel?--I was only making a supposition. You wish to remain bailiff
on this estate. I offer you the certainty of doing so--it is for you to
consider and decide."
"But, sir--"
"One word more--or rather one more condition--as important as the other.
Unfortunately, we have seen clergymen take advantage of the age and
weakness of their penitents, unfairly to benefit either themselves or
others: I believe our protege incapable of any such baseness--but, in
order to discharge my responsibility--and yours also, as you will have
contributed to his appointment--I must request that you will write to me
twice a week, giving the most exact detail of all that you have remarked
in the character, habits, connections, pursuits, of Madame de la Sainte
Colombe--for the influence of a confessor, you see, reveals itself in
the whole conduct of life, and I should wish to be fully edified by the
proceedings of my friend, without his being aware of it--or, if anything
blameable were to strike you, I should be immediately informed of it by
this weekly correspondence."
"But, sir--that would be to act as a spy?" exclaimed the unfortunate
bailiff.
"Now, my dear M. Dupont! how can you thus brand the sweetest, most
wholesome of human desires--mutual confidence?--I ask of you nothing
else--I ask of you to write to me confidentially the details of all that
goes on here. On these two conditions, inseparable one from the other,
you remain bailiff; otherwise, I shall be forced, with grief and regret,
to recommend some one else to Madame de la Sainte-Colombe."
"I beg you, sir," said Dupont, with emotion, "Be generous without any
conditions!--I and my wife have only this place to give us bread, and we
are too old to find another. Do not expose our probity of forty
years' standing to be tempted by the fear of want, which is so bad a
counsellor!"
"My dear M. Dupont, you are really a great child: you must reflect upon
this, and give me your answer in the course of a week."
"Oh, sir! I implore you--" The conversation was here interrupted by a
loud report, which was almost instantaneously repeated by the echoes of
the cliffs. "What is that?" said M. Rodin. Hardly had he spoken, when
the same noise was again heard more distinctly than before.
"It is the sound of cannon," cried Dupont, rising; "no doubt a ship in
distress, or signaling for a pilot."
"My dear," said the bailiffs wife, entering abruptly, "from the terrace,
we can see a steamer and a large ship nearly dismasted--they are
drifting right upon the shore--the ship is firing minute gulls--it will
be lost."
"Oh, it is terrible!" cried the bailiff, taking his hat and preparing to
go out, "to look on at a shipwreck, and be able to do nothing!"
"Can no help be given to these vessels?" asked M. Rodin.
"If they are driven upon the reefs, no human power can save them; since
the last equinox two ships have been lost on this coast."
"Lost with all on board?--Oh, very frightful," said M. Rodin.
"In such a storm, there is but little chance for the crew; no matter,"
said the bailiff, addressing his wife, "I will run down to the rocks
with the people of the farm, and try to save some of them, poor
creatures!--Light large fires in several rooms--get ready linen,
clothes, cordials--I scarcely dare hope to save any, but we must do our
best. Will you come with me, M. Rodin?"
"I should think it a duty, if I could be at all useful, but I am too
old and feeble to be of any service," said M. Rodin, who was by no means
anxious to encounter the storm. "Your good lady will be kind enough to
show me the Green Chamber, and when I have found the articles I require,
I will set out immediately for Paris, for I am in great haste."
"Very well, sir. Catherine will show you. Ring the big bell," said the
bailiff to his servant; "let all the people of the farm meet me at the
foot of the cliff, with ropes and levers."
"Yes, my dear," replied Catherine; "but do not expose yourself."
"Kiss me--it will bring me luck," said the bailiff; and he started at a
full run, crying: "Quick! quick; by this time not a plank may remain of
the vessels."
"My dear madam," said Rodin, always impassible, "will you be obliging
enough to show me the Green Chamber?"
"Please to follow me, sir," answered Catherine, drying her tears--for
she trembled on account of her husband, whose courage she well knew.
CHAPTER XXIV. THE TEMPEST
The sea is raging. Mountainous waves of dark green, marbled with white
foam, stand out, in high, deep undulations, from the broad streak of red
light, which extends along the horizon. Above are piled heavy masses
of black and sulphurous vapor, whilst a few lighter clouds of a reddish
gray, driven by the violence of the wind, rush across the murky sky.
The pale winter sun, before he quite disappears in the great clouds,
behind which he is slowly mounting, casts here and there some oblique
rays upon the troubled sea, and gilds the transparent crest of some of
the tallest waves. A band of snow-white foam boils and rages as far
as the eye can reach, along the line of the reefs that bristle on this
dangerous coast.
Half-way up a rugged promontory, which juts pretty far into the sea,
rises Cardoville Castle; a ray of the sun glitters upon its windows; its
brick walls and pointed roofs of slate are visible in the midst of this
sky loaded with vapors.
A large, disabled ship, with mere shreds of sail still fluttering from
the stumps of broken masts, drives dead upon the coast. Now she rolls
her monstrous hull upon the waves--now plunges into their trough. A
flash is seen, followed by a dull sound, scarcely perceptible in
the midst of the roar of the tempest. That gun is the last signal of
distress from this lost vessel, which is fast forging on the breakers.
At the same moment, a steamer, with its long plume of black smoke, is
working her way from east to west, making every effort to keep at a
distance from the shore, leaving the breakers on her left. The dismasted
ship, drifting towards the rocks, at the mercy of the wind and tide,
must some time pass right ahead of the steamer.
Suddenly, the rush of a heavy sea laid the steamer upon her side; the
enormous wave broke furiously on her deck; in a second the chimney
was carried away, the paddle box stove in, one of the wheels rendered
useless. A second white-cap, following the first, again struck the
vessel amidships, and so increased the damage that, no longer answering
to the helm, she also drifted towards the shore, in the same direction
as the ship. But the latter, though further from the breakers, presented
a greater surface to the wind and sea, and so gained upon the steamer
in swiftness that a collision between the two vessels became imminent--a
new clanger added to all the horrors of the now certain wreck.
The ship was an English vessel, the "Black Eagle," homeward bound from
Alexandria, with passengers, who arriving from India and Java, via