The Wandering Jew, Complete

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"Remember, my dear son," replied Father d'Aigrigny, pale and tortured by
increasing anguish, "remember, that, on the eve of the day fixed for the
completion of your vows; I offered, according to the rule of our Company,
to absolve you from joining us--leaving you completely free, for we
accept none but voluntary vocations."

"It is true, father," answered Gabriel, with sorrowful bitterness; "when,
worn out and broken by three months of solitude and trial, I was
completely exhausted, and unable to move a step, you opened the door of
my cell, and said to me: 'If you like, rise and walk; you are free; Alas!
I had no more strength. The only desire of my soul, inert and paralyzed
for so long a period, was the repose of the grave; and pronouncing those
irrevocable vows, I fell, like a corpse, into your hands."

"And, till now, my dear son, you have never failed in this corpse--like
obedience,--to use the expression of our glorious founder--because, the
more absolute this obedience, the more meritorious it must be."

After a moment's silence, Gabriel resumed: "You had always concealed from
me, father, the true ends of the Society into which I entered. I was
asked to abandon my free-will to my superiors, in the name of the Greater
Glory of God. My vows once pronounced, I was to be in your hands a docile
and obedient instrument; but I was to be employed, you told me, in a
holy, great and beauteous work. I believed you, father--how should I not
have believed you? but a fatal event changed my destiny--a painful malady
caused by--"

"My son," cried Father d'Aigrigny, interrupting Gabriel, "it is useless
to recall these circumstances."

"Pardon me, father, I must recall them. I have the right to be heard. I
cannot pass over in silence any of the facts, which have led me to take
the immutable resolution that I am about to announce to you."

"Speak on, my son," said Father d'Aigrigny, frowning; for he was much
alarmed at the words of the young priest, whose cheeks, until now pale,
were covered with a deep blush.

"Six months before my departure for America," resumed Gabriel, casting
down his eyes, "you informed me, that I was destined to confess
penitents; and to prepare then for that sacred ministry, you gave me a
book."

Gabriel again hesitated. His blushes increased. Father d'Aigrigny could
scarcely restrain a start of impatience and anger.

"You gave me a book," resumed the young priest, with a great effort to
control himself, "a book containing questions to be addressed by a
confessor to youths, and young girls, and married women, when they
present themselves at the tribunal of penance. My God!" added Gabriel,
shuddering at the remembrance. "I shall never forget that awful moment.
It was night. I had retired to my chamber, taking with me this book,
composed, you told me, by one of our fathers, and completed by a holy
bishop.[18] Full of respect, faith, and confidence, I opened those pages.
At first, I did not understand them--afterwards I understood--and then I
was seized with shame and horror--struck with stupor--and had hardly
strength to close, with trembling hand, this abominable volume. I ran to
you, father, to accuse myself of having involuntarily cast my eyes on
those nameless pages, which, by mistake, you had placed in my hands."

"Remember, also, my dear son," said Father d'Aigrigny, gravely, "that I
calmed your scruples, and told you that a priest, who is bound to hear
everything under the seal of confession, must be able to know and
appreciate everything; and that our Company imposes the task of reading
this Compendium, as a classical work, upon young deacons seminarists, and
priests, who are destined to be confessors."

"I believed you, father. In me the habit of inert obedience was so
powerful, and I was so unaccustomed to independent reflection, that,
notwithstanding my horror (with which I now reproached myself as with a
crime), I took the volume back into my chamber, and read. Oh, father!
what a dreadful revelation of criminal fancies, guilty of guiltiest in
their refinement!"

"You speak of this book in blamable terms," skid Father d'Aigrigny,
severely; "you were the victim of a too lively imagination. It is to it
that you must attribute this fatal impression, and not to an excellent
work, irreproachable for its special purpose, and duly authorized by the
Church. You are not able to judge of such a production."

"I will speak of it no more, father," said Gabriel: and he thus resumed:
"A long illness followed that terrible night. Many times, they feared for
my reason. When I recovered, the past appeared to me like a painful
dream. You told me, then, father, that I was not yet ripe for certain
functions; and it was then that I earnestly entreated you to be allowed
to go on the American missions. After having long refused my prayer, you
at length consented. From my childhood, I had always lived in the college
or seminary, to a state of continual restraint and subjection. By
constantly holding down my head and eyes, I had lost the habit of
contemplating the heavens and the splendors of nature. But, oh! what
deep, religious happiness I felt, when I found myself suddenly
transported to the centre of the imposing grandeur of the seas-half-way
between the ocean and the sky!--I seemed to come forth from a place of
thick darkness; for the first time, for many years, I felt my heart beat
freely in my bosom; for the first time, I felt myself master of my own
thoughts, and ventured to examine my past life, as from the summit of a
mountain, one looks down into a gloomy vale. Then strange doubts rose
within me. I asked myself by what right, and for what end, any beings had
so long repressed, almost annihilated, the exercise of my will, of my
liberty, of my reason, since God had endowed me with these gifts. But I
said to myself, that perhaps, one day, the great, beauteous, and holy
work, in which I was to have my share, would be revealed to me, and would
recompense my obedience and resignation."

At this moment, Rodin re-entered the room. Father d'Aigrigny questioned
him with a significant look. The socius approached, and said to him in a
low voice, so, that Gabriel could not hear: "Nothing serious. It was only
to inform me, that Marshal Simon's father is arrived at M. Hardy's
factory."

Then, glancing at Gabriel, Rodin appeared to interrogate Father
d'Aigrigny, who hung his head with a desponding air. Yet he resumed,
again addressing Gabriel, whilst Rodin took his old place, with his elbow
on the chimney-piece: "Go on, my dear son. I am anxious to learn what
resolution you have adopted."

"I will tell you in a moment, father. I arrived at Charleston. The
superior of our establishment in that place, to whom I imparted my doubts
as to the object of our Society, took upon himself to clear them up, and
unveiled it all to me with alarming frankness. He told me the tendency
not perhaps of all the members of the Company, for a great number must
have shared my ignorance--but the objects which our leaders have
pertinaciously kept in view, ever since the foundation of the Order. I
was terrified. I read the casuists. Oh, father! that was a new and
dreadful revelation, when, at every page, I read the excuse and
justification of robbery, slander, adultery, perjury, murder, regicide.
When I considered that I, the priest of a God of charity, justice,
pardon, and love, was to belong henceforth to a Company, whose chiefs
professed and glorified in such doctrines, I made a solemn oath to break
for ever the ties which bound me to it!"[19]

On these words of Gabriel, Father d'Aigrigny and Rodin exchanged a look
of terror. All was lost; their prey had escaped them. Deeply moved by the
remembrances he recalled, Gabriel did not perceive the action of the
reverend father and the socius, and thus continued: "In spite of my
resolution, father, to quit the Company, the discovery I had made was
very painful to me. Oh! believe me, for the honest and loving soul,
nothing is more frightful than to have to renounce what it has long
respected!--I suffered so much, that, when I thought of the dangers of my
mission, I hoped, with a secret joy, that God would perhaps take me to
Himself under these circumstances: but, on the contrary, He watched over
me with providential solicitude."

As he said this, Gabriel felt a thrill, for he remembered a Mysterious
Woman who had saved his life in America. After a moment's silence, he
resumed: "My mission terminated, I returned hither to beg, father, that
you would release me from my vows. Many times but in vain, I solicited an
interview. Yesterday, it pleased Providence that I should have a long
conversation with my adopted mother; from her I learned the trick by
which my vocation had been forced upon me--and the sacrilegious abuse of
the confessional, by which she had been induced to entrust to other
persons the orphans that a dying mother had confided to the care of an
honest soldier. You understand, father, that, if even I had before
hesitated to break these bonds, what I have heard yesterday must have
rendered my decision irrevocable. But at this solemn moment, father, I am
bound to tell you, that I do not accuse the whole Society; many simple,
credulous, and confiding men, like myself, must no doubt form part of it.
Docile instruments, they see not in their blindness the work to which
they are destined. I pity them, and pray God to enlighten them, as he has
enlightened me."

"So, my son," said Father d'Aigrigny, rising with livid and despairing
look, "you come to ask of me to break the ties which attach you to the
Society?"

"Yes, father; you received my vows--it is for you to release me from
them."

"So, my son, you understand that engagements once freely taken by you,
are now to be considered as null and void?"

"Yes, father."

"So, my son, there is to be henceforth nothing in common between you and
our Company?"

"No, father--since I request you to absolve me of my vows."

"But, you know, my son, that the Society may release you--but that you
cannot release yourself."

"The step I take proves to you, father, the importance I attach to an
oath, since I come to you to release me from it. Nevertheless, were you
to refuse me, I should not think myself bound in the eyes of God or man."

"It is perfectly clear," said Father d'Aigrigny to Rodin, his voice
expiring upon his lips, so deep was his despair.

Suddenly, whilst Gabriel, with downcast eyes, waited for the answer of
Father d'Aigrigny, who remained mute and motionless, Rodin appeared
struck with a new idea, on perceiving that the reverend father still held
in his hand the note written in pencil. The socius hastily approached
Father d'Aigrigny, and said to him in a whisper, with a look of doubt and
alarm: "Have you not read my note?"

"I did not think of it," answered the reverend father, mechanically.

Rodin appeared to make a great effort to repress a movement of violent
rage. Then he said to Father d'Aigrigny, in a calm voice: "Read it now."

Hardly had the reverend father cast his eyes upon this note, than a
sudden ray of hope illumined his hitherto despairing countenance.
Pressing the hand of the socius with an expression of deep gratitude, he
said to him in a low voice: "You are right. Gabriel is ours."

[16] The statutes formally state that the Company can expel all drones and
wasps, but that no man can break his ties, if the Order wishes to retain
him.

[17] This is their own command. The constitution expressly bids the novice
wait for this decisive climax of the ordeal before taking the vows of
God.

[18] It is impossible, even in Latin, to give our readers an idea of this
infamous work.

[19] This is true. See the extracts from the Compendium for the use of
Schools, published under the title of "Discoveries by a Bibliophilist."
Strasburg, 1843. For regicide, see Sanchez and others.




CHAPTER XXI.

THE CHANGE.

Before again addressing Gabriel, Father d'Aigrigny carefully reflected;
and his countenance, lately so disturbed, became gradually once more
serene. He appeared to meditate and calculate the effects of the
eloquence he was about to employ, upon an excellent and safe theme, which
the socius struck with the danger of the situation, had suggested in a
few lines rapidly written with a pencil, and which, in his despair, the
reverend father had at first neglected. Rodin resumed his post of
observation near the mantelpiece, on which he leaned his elbow, after
casting at Father d'Aigrigny a glance of disdainful and angry
superiority, accompanied by a significant shrug of the shoulders.

After this involuntary manifestation, which was luckily not perceived by
Father d'Aigrigny, the cadaverous face of the socius resumed its icy
calmness, and his flabby eyelids, raised a moment with anger and
impatience, fell, and half-veiled his little, dull eyes. It must be
confessed that Father d'Aigrigny, notwithstanding the ease and elegance
of his speech, notwithstanding the seduction of his exquisite manners,
his agreeable features, and the exterior of an accomplished and refined
man of the world, was often subdued and governed by the unpitying
firmness, the diabolical craft and depth of Rodin, the old, repulsive,
dirty, miserably dressed man, who seldom abandoned his humble part of
secretary and mute auditor. The influence of education is so powerful,
that Gabriel, notwithstanding the formal rupture he had just provoked,
felt himself still intimidated in presence of Father d'Aigrigny, and
waited with painful anxiety for the answer of the reverend father to his
express demand to be released from his old vows. His reverence having,
doubtless, regularly laid his plan of attack, at length broke silence,
heaved a deep sigh, gave to his countenance, lately so severe and
irritated, a touching expression of kindness, and said to Gabriel, in an
affectionate voice: "Forgive me, my dear son, for having kept silence so
long; but your abrupt determination has so stunned me, and has raised
within me so many painful thoughts, that I have had to reflect for some
moments, to try and penetrate the cause of this rupture, and I think I
have succeeded. You have well considered, my dear son, the serious nature
of the step you are taking?"

"Yes, father."

"And you have absolutely decided to abandon the Society, even against my
will?"

"It would be painful to me, father--but I must resign myself to it."

"It should be very painful to you, indeed, my dear son; for you took the
irrevocable vow freely, and this vow, according to our statutes, binds
you not to quit the Society, unless with the consent of your superiors."

"I did not then know, father, the nature of the engagement I took. More
enlightened now, I ask to withdraw myself; my only desire is to obtain a
curacy in some village far from Paris. I feel an irresistible vocation
for such humble and useful functions. In the country, there is so much
misery, and such ignorance of all that could contribute to ameliorate the
condition of the agricultural laborer, that his existence is as unhappy
as that of a negro slave; for what liberty has he? and what instruction?
Oh! it seems to me, that, with God's help, I might, as a village curate,
render some services to humanity. It would therefore be painful to me,
father, to see you refuse--"

"Be satisfied, my son," answered Father d'Aigrigny; "I will no longer
seek to combat your desire to separate yourself from us."

"Then, father, you release me from my vows?"

"I have not the power to do so, my dear son; but I will write immediately
to Rome, to ask the necessary authority from our general."

"I thank you, father."

"Soon, my dear son, you will be delivered from these bonds, which you
deem so heavy; and the men you abandon will not the less continue to pray
for you, that God may preserve you from still greater wanderings. You
think yourself released with regard to us, my dear son; but we do not
think ourselves released with regard to you. It is not thus that we can
get rid of the habit of paternal attachment. What would you have? We look
upon ourselves as bound to our children, by the very benefits with which
we have loaded them. You were poor, and an orphan; we stretched out our
arms to you, as much from the interest which you deserved, my dear son,
as to spare your excellent adopted mother too great a burden."

"Father," said Gabriel, with suppressed emotion, "I am not ungrateful."

"I wish to believe so, my dear son. For long years, we gave to you, as to
our beloved child, food for the body and the soul. It pleases you now to
renounce and abandon us. Not only do we consent to it--but now that I
have penetrated the true motives of your rupture with us, it is my duty
to release you from your vow."

"Of what motives do you speak, Father?"

"Alas! my dear son, I understand your fears. Dangers menace us--you know
it well."

"Dangers, father?" cried Gabriel.

"It is impossible, my dear son, that you should not be aware that, since
the fall of our legitimate sovereigns, our natural protectors,
revolutionary impiety becomes daily more and more threatening. We are
oppressed with persecutions. I can, therefore, comprehend and appreciate,
my dear son, the motive which under such circumstances, induces you to
separate from us."

"Father!" cried Gabriel, with as much indignation as grief, "you do not
think that of me--you cannot think it."

Without noticing the protestations of Gabriel, Father d'Aigrigny
continued his imaginary picture of the dangers of the Company, which, far
from being really in peril, was already beginning secretly to recover its
influence.

"Oh! if our Company were now as powerful as it was some years ago,"
resumed the reverend father; "if it were still surrounded by the respect
and homage which are due to it from all true believers--in spite of the
abominable calumnies with which we are assailed--then, my dear son, we
should perhaps have hesitated to release you from your vows, and have
rather endeavored to open your eyes to the light, and save you from the
fatal delusion to which you are a prey. But now that we are weak,
oppressed, threatened on every side, it is our duty, it is an act of
charity, not to force you to share in perils from which you have the
prudence to wish to withdraw yourself."

So, saying, Father d'Aigrigny cast a rapid glance at his socius, who
answered with a nod of approbation, accompanied by a movement of
impatience that seemed to say: "Go on! go on!"

Gabriel was quite overcome. There was not in the whole world a heart more
generous, loyal, and brave than his. We may judge of what he must have
suffered, on hearing the resolution he had come to thus misinterpreted.

"Father," he resumed, in an agitated voice, whilst his eyes filled with
tears, "your words are cruel and unjust. You know that I am not a
coward."

"No," said Rodin, in his sharp, cutting voice, addressing Father
d'Aigrigny, and pointing to Gabriel with a disdainful look; "your dear
son is only prudent."

These words from Rodin made Gabriel start; a slight blush colored his
pale cheeks; his large and blue eyes sparkled with a generous anger;
then, faithful to the precepts of Christian humility and resignation, he
conquered this irritable impulse, hung down his head, and, too much
agitated to reply, remained silent, and brushed away an unseen tear. This
tear did not escape the notice of the socius. He saw in it no doubt, a
favorable symptom, for he exchanged a glance of satisfaction with Father
d'Aigrigny. The latter was about to touch on a question of great
interest, so, notwithstanding his self-command, his voice trembled
slightly; but encouraged, or rather pushed on by a look from Rodin, who
had become extremely attentive, he said to Gabriel: "Another motive
obliges us not to hesitate in releasing you from your vow, my dear son.
It is a question of pure delicacy. You probably learned yesterday from
your adopted mother, that you will perhaps be called upon to take
possession of an inheritance, of which the value is unknown."

Gabriel raised his head hastily and said to Father d'Aigrigny: "As I have
already stated to M. Rodin, my adopted mother only talked of her scruples
of conscience, and I was completely ignorant of the existence of the
inheritance of which you speak."

The expression of indifference with which the young priest pronounced
these last words, was remarked by Rodin.

"Be it so," replied Father d'Aigrigny. "You were not aware of it--I
believe you--though all appearances would tend to prove the contrary--to
prove, indeed, that the knowledge of this inheritance was not unconnected
with your resolution to separate from us."

"I do not understand you, Father."

"It is very simple. Your rupture with us would then have two motives.
First, we are in danger, and you think it prudent to leave us--"

"Father!"

"Allow me to finish, my dear son, and come to the second motive. If I am
deceived, you can tell me so. These are the facts. Formerly, on the
hypothesis that your family, of which you knew nothing, might one day
leave you some property, you made, in return for the care bestowed on you
by the Company, a free gift of all you might hereafter possess, not to
us--but to the poor, of whom we are the born shepherds."

"Well, father?" asked Gabriel, not seeing to what this preamble tended.

"Well, my dear son--now that you are sure of enjoying a competence, you
wish, no doubt, by separating from us, to annul this donation made under
other circumstances."

"To speak plainly, you violate your oath, because we are persecuted, and
because you wish to take back your gifts," added Rodin, in a sharp voice,
as if to describe in the clearest and plainest manner the situation of
Gabriel with regard to the Society.

At this infamous accusation, Gabriel could only raise his hands and eyes
to heaven, and exclaim, with an expression of despair, "Oh, heaven!"

Once more exchanging a look of intelligence with Rodin, Father d'Aigrigny
said to him, in a severe tone, as if reproaching him for his too savage
frankness: "I think you go too far. Our dear son could only have acted in
the base and cowardly manner you suggest, had he known his position as an
heir; but, since he affirms the contrary, we are bound to believe him--in
spite of appearances."

"Father," said Gabriel, pale, agitated trembling, and with half
suppressed grief and indignation, "I thank you, at least, for having
suspended your judgment. No, I am not a coward; for heaven is my witness,
that I knew of no danger to which the Society was exposed. Nor am I base
and avaricious; for heaven is also my witness, that only at this moment I
learn from you, father, that I may be destined to inherit property,
and--"

"One word, my dear son. It is quite lately that I became informed of this
circumstance, by the greatest chance in the world," said Father
d'Aigrigny, interrupting Gabriel; "and that was thanks to some family
papers which your adopted mother had given to her confessor, and which
were entrusted to us when you entered our college. A little before your
return from America, in arranging the archives of the Company, your file
of papers fell into the hands of our father-attorney. It was examined,
and we thus learned that one of your paternal ancestors, to whom the
house in which we now are belonged, left a will which is to be opened to
day at noon. Yesterday, we believed you one of us; our statutes command
that we should possess nothing of our own; you had corroborated those
statutes, by a donation in favor of the patrimony of the poor--which we
administer. It was no longer you, therefore, but the Company, which, in
my person, presented itself as the inheritor in your place, furnished
with your titles, which I have here ready in order. But now, my clear
son, that you separate from us, you must present yourself in your own
name. We came here as the representatives of the poor, to whom in former
days you piously abandoned whatever goods might fall to your share. Now,
on the contrary, the hope of a fortune changes your sentiments. You are
free to resume your gifts."

Gabriel had listened to Father d'Aigrigny with painful impatience. At
length he exclaimed. "Do you mean to say, father, that you think me
capable of canceling a donation freely made, in favor of the Company, to
which I am indebted for my education? You believe me infamous enough to
break my word, in the hope of possessing a modest patrimony?"

"This patrimony, my dear, son, may be small; but it may also be
considerable."

"Well, father! if it were a king's fortune," cried Gabriel, with proud
and noble indifference, "I should not speak otherwise--and I have, I
think, the right to be believed listen to my fixed resolution. The
Company to which I belong runs, you say, great dangers. I will inquire
into these dangers. Should they prove threatening--strong in the
determination which morally separates me from you--I will not leave you
till I see the end of your perils. As for the inheritance, of which you
believe me so desirous, I resign it to you formally, father, as I once
freely promised. My only wish is, that this property may be employed for
the relief of the poor. I do not know what may be the amount of this
fortune, but large or small, it belongs to the Company, because I have
thereto pledged my word. I have told you, father, that my chief desire is
to obtain a humble curacy in some poor village--poor, above all--because
there my services will be most useful. Thus, father, when a man, who
never spoke falsehood in his life, affirms to you, that he only sighs for
so humble an existence, you ought, I think, to believe him incapable of
snatching back, from motives of avarice, gifts already made."