The Wandering Jew, Complete

E >> Eugene Sue >> The Wandering Jew, Complete


In contemplating these prints more and more nearly, with ardent and
inquiring eye, as though he had asked for hopes or inspirations from
them, Rodin had come so close that, still standing, with his right arm
bent behind his head, he rested, as it were, against the wall, whilst,
hiding his left hand in the pocket of his black trousers, he thus held
back one of the flaps of his olive great-coat. For some minutes, he
remained in this meditative attitude.

Rodin, as we have said, came seldom to this lodging; according to the
rules of his Order, he had till now lived with Father d'Aigrigny, whom he
was specially charged to watch. No member of the Society, particularly in
the subaltern position which Rodin had hitherto held, could either shut
himself in, or possess an article of furniture made to lock. By this
means nothing interferes with the mutual spy-system, incessantly carried
on, which forms one of the most powerful resources of the Company of
Jesus. It was on account of certain combinations, purely personal to
himself, though connected on some points with the interests of the Order,
that Rodin, unknown to all, had taken these rooms in the Rue Clovis. And
it was from the depths of this obscure den that the socius corresponded
directly with the most eminent and influential personages of the sacred
college. On one occasion, when Rodin wrote to Rome, that Father
d'Aigrigny, having received orders to quit France without seeing his
dying mother, had hesitated to set out, the socius had added, in form of
postscriptum, at the bottom of the letter denouncing to the General of
the Order the hesitation of Father d'Aigrigny:

"Tell the Prince Cardinal that he may rely upon me, but I hope for his
active aid in return."

This familiar manner of corresponding with the most powerful dignitary of
the Order, the almost patronizing tone of the recommendation that Rodin
addressed to the Prince Cardinal, proved that the socius, notwithstanding
his apparently subaltern position, was looked upon, at that epoch, as a
very important personage, by many of the Princes of the Church, who wrote
to him at Paris under a false name, making use of a cipher and other
customary precautions. After some moments passed in contemplation, before
the portrait of Sixtus V., Rodin returned slowly to the table, on which
lay the letter, which, by a sort of superstitious delay, he had deferred
opening, notwithstanding his extreme curiosity. As it still wanted some
minutes of half-past nine, Rodin, in order not to lose time, set about
making preparations for his frugal breakfast. He placed on the table, by
the side of an inkstand, furnished with pens, the slice of bread and the
radish; then seating himself on his stool, with the stove, as it were,
between his legs, he drew a horn-handled knife from his pocket, and
cutting alternately a morsel of bread and a morsel of radish, with a
sharp, well-worn blade, he began his temperate repast with a vigorous
appetite, keeping his eye fixed on the hand of his watch. When it reached
the momentous hour, he unsealed the envelope with a trembling hand.

It contained two letters. The first appeared to give him little
satisfaction; for, after some minutes, he shrugged his shoulders, struck
the table impatiently with the handle of his knife, disdainfully pushed
aside the letter with the back of his dirty hand, and perused the second
epistle, holding his bread in one hand, and with the other mechanically
dipping a slice of radish into the gray salt spilt on a corner of the
table. Suddenly, Rodin's hand remained motionless. As he progressed in
his reading, he appeared more and more interested, surprised, and struck.
Rising abruptly, he ran to the window, as if to assure himself, by a
second examination of the cipher, that he was not deceived. The news
announced to him in the letter seemed to be unexpected. No doubt, Rodin
found that he had deciphered correctly, for, letting fall his arms, not
in dejection, but with the stupor of a satisfaction as unforeseen as
extraordinary, he remained for some time with his head down, and his eyes
fixed--the only mark of joy that he gave being manifested by a loud,
frequent, and prolonged respiration. Men who are as audacious in their
ambition, as they are patient and obstinate in their mining and
countermining, are surprised at their own success, when this latter
precedes and surpasses their wise and prudent expectations. Rodin was now
in this case. Thanks to prodigies of craft, address, and dissimulation,
thanks to mighty promises of corruption, thanks to the singular mixture
of admiration, fear, and confidence, with which his genius inspired many
influential persons, Rodin now learned from members of the pontifical
government, that, in case of a possible and probable occurrence, he
might, within a given time, aspire, with a good chance of success, to a
position which has too often excited the fear, the hate, or the envy of
many sovereigns, and which has in turn, been occupied by great, good men,
by abominable scoundrels, and by persons risen from the lowest grades of
society. But for Rodin to attain this end with certainty, it was
absolutely necessary for him to succeed in that project, which he had
undertaken to accomplish without violence, and only by the play and the
rebound of passions skillfully managed. The project was: To secure for
the Society of Jesus the fortune of the Rennepont family.

This possession would thus have a double and immense result; for Rodin,
acting in accordance with his personal views, intended to make of his
Order (whose chief was at his discretion) a stepping-stone and a means of
intimidation. When his first impression of surprise had passed away--an
impression that was only a sort of modesty of ambition and self
diffidence, not uncommon with men of really superior powers--Rodin looked
more coldly and logically on the matter, and almost reproached himself
for his surprise. But soon after, by a singular contradiction, yielding
to one of those puerile and absurd ideas, by which men are often carried
away when they think themselves alone and unobserved, Rodin rose
abruptly, took the letter which had caused him such glad surprise, and
went to display it, as it were, before the eyes of the young swineherd in
the picture: then, shaking his head proudly and triumphantly, casting his
reptile-glance on the portrait, he muttered between his teeth, as he
placed his dirty finger on the pontifical emblem: "Eh, brother? and I
also--perhaps!"

After this ridiculous interpolation, Rodin returned to his seat, and, as
if the happy news he had just received had increased his appetite, he
placed the letter before him, to read it once more, whilst he exercised
his teeth, with a sort of joyous fury, on his hard bread and radish,
chanting an old Litany.

There was something strange, great, and, above all, frightful, in the
contrast afforded by this immense ambition, already almost justified by
events, and contained, as it were, in so miserable an abode. Father
d'Aigrigny (who, if not a very superior man, had at least some real
value, was a person of high birth, very haughty, and placed in the best
society) would never have ventured to aspire to what Rodin thus looked to
from the first. The only aim of Father d'Aigrigny, and even this he
thought presumptuous, was to be one day elected General of his
Order--that Order which embraced the world. The difference of the
ambitious aptitudes of these two personages is conceivable. When a man of
eminent abilities, of a healthy and vivacious nature, concentrates all
the strength of his mind and body upon a single point, remaining, like
Rodin, obstinately chaste and frugal, and renouncing every gratification
of the heart and the senses--the man, who revolts against the sacred
designs of his Creator, does so almost always in favor of some monstrous
and devouring passion--some infernal divinity, which, by a sacrilegious
pact, asks of him, in return for the bestowal of formidable power, the
destruction of every noble sentiment, and of all those ineffable
attractions and tender instincts with which the Maker, in His eternal
wisdom and inexhaustible munificence, has so paternally endowed His
creatures.

During the scene that we have just described, Rodin had not perceived
that the curtain of a window on the third story of the building opposite
had been partially drawn aside, and had half-revealed the sprightly face
of Rose-Pompon, and the Silenus-like countenance of Ninny Moulin. It
ensued that Rodin, notwithstanding his barricade of cotton handkerchiefs,
had not been completely sheltered from the indiscreet and curious
examination of the two dancers of the Storm-blown Tulip.

[22] According to the tradition, it was predicted to the mother of Sixtus
V., that he would be pope; and, in his youth, he is said to have kept
swine.




CHAPTER XXX.

AN UNEXPECTED VISIT.

Though Rodin had experienced much surprise on reading the second letter
from Rome, he did not choose that his answer should betray any such
amazement. Having finished his frugal breakfast, he took a sheet of
paper, and rapidly wrote in cipher the following note, in the short,
abrupt style that was natural to him when not obliged to restrain
himself:

"The information does not surprise me. I had foreseen it all. Indecision
and cowardice always bear such fruit. This is not enough. Heretical
Russia murders Catholic Poland. Rome blesses the murderers, and curses
the victims.[23]

"Let it pass.

"In return, Russia guarantees to Rome, by Austria, the bloody suppression
of the patriots of Romagna.

"That, too, is well.

"The cut-throat band of good Cardinal Albani is not sufficient for the
massacre of the impious liberals. They are weary of the task.

"Not so well. They must go on."

When Rodin had written these last words, his attention was suddenly
attracted by the clear and sonorous voice of Rose-Pompon, who, knowing
her Beranger by heart, had opened Philemon's window, and, seated on the
sill, sang with much grace and prettiness this verse of the immortal
song-writer:

"How wrong you are! Is't you dare say
That heaven ever scowls on earth?
The earth that laughs up to its blue,
The earth that owes it joy and birth?
Oh, may the wine from vines it warms,
May holy love thence fluttering down,
Lend my philosophy their charms,
To drive away care's direful frown!
So, firm let's stand,
Full glass in hand,
And all evoke
The God of honest folk!"

This song, in its divine gentleness, contrasted so strangely with the
cold cruelty of the few lines written by Rodin, that he started and bit
his lips with rage, as he recognized the words of the great poet, truly
Christian, who had dealt such rude blows to the false Church. Rodin
waited for some moments with angry impatience, thinking the voice would
continue; but Rose-Pompon was silent, or only continued to hum, and soon
changed to another air, that of the Good Pope, which she entoned, but
without words. Rodin, not venturing to look out of his window to see who
was this troublesome warbler, shrugged his shoulders, resumed his pen,
and continued:

"To it again. We must exasperate the independent spirits in all
countries--excite philosophic rage all over Europe make liberalism foam
at the mouth--raise all that is wild and noisy against Rome. To effect
this, we must proclaim in the face of the world these three propositions.
1. It is abominable to assert that a man may be saved in any faith
whatever, provided his morals be pure. 2. It is odious and absurd to
grant liberty of conscience to the people. 3. The liberty of the press
cannot be held in too much horror.24

"We must bring the Pap-fed man to declare these propositions in every
respect orthodox--show him their good effect upon despotic
governments--upon true Catholics, the muzzlers of the people. He will
fall into the snare. The propositions once published, the storm will
burst forth. A general rising against Rome--a wide schism--the sacred
college divided into three parties. One approves--the other blames--the
third trembles. The Sick Man, still more frightened than he is now at
having allowed the destruction of Poland, will shrink from the clamors,
reproaches, threats, and violent ruptures that he has occasioned.

"That is well--and goes far.

"Then, set the Pope to shaking the conscience of the Sick Man, to disturb
his mind, and terrify his soul.

"To sum up. Make everything bitter to him--divide his council--isolate
him--frighten him--redouble the ferocious ardor of good Albini--revive
the appetite of the Sanfedists[25]--give them a gulf of liberals--let there
be pillage, rape, massacre, as at Cesena--a downright river of Carbonaro
blood--the Sick Man will have a surfeit of it. So many butcheries in his
name--he will shrink, be sure he will shrink--every day will have its
remorse, every night its terror, every minute its anguish; and the
abdication he already threatens will come at last--perhaps too soon. That
is now the only danger; you must provide against it.

"In case of an abdication, the grand penitentiary has understood me.
Instead of confiding to a general the direction of our Order, the best
militia of the Holy See, I should command it myself. Thenceforward this
militia would give me no uneasiness. For instance: the Janissaries and
the Praetorian Guards were always fatal to authority--why?--because they
were able to organize themselves as defenders of the government,
independently of the government; hence their power of intimidation.

"Clement XIV. was a fool. To brand and abolish our Company was an absurd
fault. To protect and make it harmless, by declaring himself the General
of the Order, is what he should have done. The Company, then at his
mercy, would have consented to anything. He would have absorbed us, made
us vassals of the Holy See, and would no longer have had to fear our
services. Clement XIV. died of the cholic. Let him heed who hears. In a
similar case, I should not die the same death."

Just then, the clear and liquid voice of Rose-Pompon was again heard.
Rodin bounded with rage upon his seat; but soon, as he listened to the
following verse, new to him (for, unlike Philemon's widow, he had not his
Beranger at his fingers' ends), the Jesuit, accessible to certain odd,
superstitious notions, was confused and almost frightened at so singular
a coincidence. It is Beranger's Good Pope who speaks--

"What are monarchs? sheepish sots!
Or they're robbers, puffed with pride,
Wearing badges of crime blots,
Till their certain graves gape wide.
If they'll pour out coin for me,
I'll absolve them--skin and bone!
If they haggle--they shall see,
My nieces dancing on their throne!
So laugh away!
Leap, my fay!
Only watch one hurt the thunder
First of all by Zeus under,
I'm the Pope, the whole world's wonder!"

Rodin, half-risen from his chair, with outstretched neck and attentive
eye, was still listening, when Rose-Pompon, flitting like a bee from
flower to flower of her repertoire, had already begun the delightful air
of Colibri. Hearing no more, the Jesuit reseated himself, in a sort of
stupor; but, after some minutes' reflection, his countenance again
brightened up, and he seemed to see a lucky omen in this singular
incident. He resumed his pen, and the first words he wrote partook, as it
were, of this strange confidence in fate.

"I have never had more hope of success than at this moment. Another
reason to neglect nothing. Every presentiment demands redoubled zeal. A
new thought occurred to me yesterday.

"We shall act here in concert. I have founded an ultra-Catholic paper
called Neighborly Love. From its ultramontane, tyrannical, liberticidal
fury, it will be thought the organ of Rome. I will confirm these reports.
They will cause new terrors.

"That will be well.

"I shall raise the question of the liberty of instruction. The raw
liberals will support us. Like fools, they admit us to equal rights; when
our privileges, our influence of the confessional, our obedience to Rome,
all place us beyond the circle of equal rights, by the advantages which
we enjoy. Double fools! they think us disarmed, because they have
disarmed themselves towards us.

"A burning question--irritating clamors--new cause of disgust for the
Weak Man. Every little makes a mickle.

"That also is very well.

"To sum up all in two words. The end is abdication--the means, vexation,
incessant torture. The Rennepont inheritance wilt pay for the election.
The price agreed, the merchandise will be sold."

Rodin here paused abruptly, thinking he had heard some noise at that door
of his, which opened on the staircase; therefore he listened with
suspended breath; but all remaining silent, he thought he must have been
deceived, and took up his pen:

"I will take care of the Rennepont business--the hinge on which will turn
our temporal operations. We must begin from the foundation--substitute
the play of interests, and the springs of passion, for the stupid club
law of Father d'Aigrigny. He nearly compromised everything--and yet he
has good parts, knows the world, has powers of seduction, quick
insight--but plays ever in a single key, and is not great enough to make
himself little. In his stead, I shall know how to make use of him. There
is good stuff in the man. I availed myself in time of the full powers
given by the R. F. G.; I may inform Father d'Aigrigny, in case of need,
of the secret engagements taken by the General towards myself. Until now,
I have let him invent for this inheritance the destination that you know
of. A good thought, but unseasonable. The same end, by other means.

"The information was false. There are over two hundred millions. Should
the eventuality occur, what was doubtful must become certain. An immense
latitude is left us. The Rennepont business is now doubly mine, and
within three months, the two hundred millions will be ours, by the free
will of the heirs themselves. It must be so; for this failing, the
temporal part would escape me, and my chances be diminished by one half.
I have asked for full powers; time presses, and I act as if I had them.
One piece of information is indispensable for the success of my projects.
I expect it from you, and I must have it; do you understand me? The
powerful influence of your brother at the Court of Vienna will serve you
in this. I wish to have the most precise details as to the present
position of the Duke de Reichstadt--the Napoleon II. of the Imperialists.
Is it possible, by means of your brother, to open a secret correspondence
with the prince, unknown to his attendants?

"Look to this promptly. It is urgent. This note will be sent off to day.
I shall complete it to-morrow. It will reach you, as usual, by the hands
of the petty shopkeeper."

At the moment when Rodin was sealing this letter within a double
envelope, he thought that he again heard a noise at the door. He
listened. After some silence, several knocks were distinctly audible.
Rodin started. It was the first time any one had knocked at his door,
since nearly a twelve-month that he occupied this room. Hastily placing
the letter in his great-coat pocket, the Jesuit opened the old trunk
under his bed, took from it a packet of papers wrapped in a tattered
cotton handkerchief, added to them the two letters in cipher he had just
received, and carefully relocked the trunk. The knocking continued
without, and seemed to show more and more impatience. Rodin took the
greengrocer's basket in his hand, tucked his umbrella under his arm, and
went with some uneasiness to ascertain who was this unexpected visitor.
He opened the door, and found himself face to face with Rose-Pompon, the
troublesome singer, and who now, with a light and pretty courtesy, said
to him in the most guileless manner in the world, "M. Rodin, if you
please?"

[23] On page 110 of Lamennais' Affaires de Rome, will be seen the following
admirable scathing of Rome by the most truly evangelical spirit of our
age: "So long as the issue of the conflict between Poland and her
oppressors remained in the balances, the papal official organ contained
not one word to offend the so long victorious nation; but hardly had she
gone down under the Czar's atrocious vengeance, and the long torture of a
whole land doomed to rack, and exile, and servitude began, than this same
journal found no language black enough to stain those whom fortune had
fled. Yet it is wrong to charge this unworthy insult to papal power; it
only cringes to the law which Russia lays down to it, when it says:

"'If you want to keep your own bones unbroken, bide where you are, beside
the scaffold, and, as the victims pass, hoot at them!'"

[24] See Pope Gregory XVI.'s Encyclical Letter to the Bishops in France,
1832.

[25] Hardly had the Sixteenth Gregory ascended the pontifical throne, than
news came of the rising in Bologna. His first idea was to call the
Austrians, and incite the Sanfedist volunteer bands of fanatics. Cardinal
Albini defeated the liberals at Cesena, where his followers pillaged
churches, sacked the town, and ill-treated women. At Forli, cold-blooded
murders were committed. In 1832 the Sanfedists (Holy Faithites) openly
paraded their medals, bearing the heads of the Duke of Modena and the
Pope; letters issued by the apostolic confederation; privileges and
indulgences. They took the following oath: "I. A. B., vow to rear the
throne and altar over the bones of infamous freedom shriekers, and
exterminate these latter without pity for children's cries and women's
tears." The disorders perpetrated by these marauders went beyond all
bounds; the Romish Court regularized anarchy and organized the Sanfedists
into volunteer corps, to which fresh privileges were granted. [Revue deux
Mondes, Nov. 15th, 1844.--"La Revolution en Italie."]




CHAPTER XXXI.

FRIENDLY SERVICES.

Notwithstanding his surprise and uneasiness, Rodin did not frown. He
began by locking his door after him, as he noticed the young girl's
inquisitive glance. Then he said to her good-naturedly, "Who do you want,
my dear?"

"M. Rodin," repeated Rose-Pompon, stoutly, opening her bright blue eyes
to their full extent, and looking Rodin full in the face.

"It's not here," said he, moving towards the stairs. "I do not know him.
Inquire above or below."

"No, you don't! giving yourself airs at your age!" said Rose-Pompon,
shrugging her shoulders. "As if we did not know that you are M. Rodin."

"Charlemagne," said the socius, bowing; "Charlemagne, to serve you--if I
am able."

"You are not able," answered Rose-Pompon, majestically; then she added
with a mocking air, "So, we have our little pussy-cat hiding-places; we
change our name; we are afraid Mamma Rodin will find us out."

"Come, my dear child," said the socius, with a paternal smile; "you have
come to the right quarter. I am an old man, but I love youth--happy,
joyous youth! Amuse yourself, pray, at my expense. Only let me pass, for
I am in a hurry." And Rodin again advanced towards the stairs.

"M. Rodin," said Rose-Pompon, in a solemn voice, "I have very important
things to say to you, and advice to ask about a love affair."

"Why, little madcap that you are! have you nobody to tease in your own
house, that you must come here?"

"I lodge in this house, M. Rodin," answered Rose-Pompon, laying a
malicious stress on the name of her victim.

"You? Oh, dear, only to think I did not know I had such a pretty
neighbor."

"Yes, I have lodged here six months, M. Rodin."

"Really! where?"

"On the third story, front, M. Rodin."

"It was you, then, that sang so well just now?"

"Rather."

"You gave me great pleasure, I must say."

"You are very polite, M. Rodin."

"You lodge, I suppose, with your respectable family?"

"I believe you, M. Rodin," said Rose-Pompon, casting down her eyes with a
timid air. "I lodge with Grandpapa Philemon, and Grandmamma
Bacchanal--who is a queen and no mistake."

Rodin had hitherto been seriously uneasy, not knowing in what manner Rose
had discovered his real name. But on hearing her mention the Bacchanal
queen, with the information that she lodged in the house, he found
something to compensate for the disagreeable incident of Rose-Pompon's
appearance. It was, indeed, important to Rodin to find out the Bacchanal
Queen, the mistress of Sleepinbuff, and the sister of Mother Bunch, who
had been noted as dangerous since her interview with the superior of the
convent, and the part she had taken in the projected escape of Mdlle. de
Cardoville. Moreover, Rodin hoped--thanks to what he had just heard--to
bring Rose-Pompon to confess to him the name of the person from whom she
had learned that "Charlemagne" masked "Rodin."

Hardly had the young girl pronounced the name of the Bacchanal queen,
than Rodin clasped his hands, and appeared as much surprised as
interested.

"Oh, my dear child," he exclaimed, "I conjure you not to jest on this
subject. Are you speaking of a young girl who bears that nickname, the
sister of a deformed needlewoman."