The Wandering Jew, Complete

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


"I was ignorant, sir, of the date and details: but I knew by some family
papers, and thanks to an extraordinary circumstance, that one of our
ancestors--"

"Had left an enormous sum to be divided between his descendants; is it
not so?"

"Yes, sir."

"But what unfortunately you did not know, my dear young lady, was that
the heirs were all bound to be present at a certain hour on the 13th
February. This day and hour once past, the absent would forfeit their
claim. Do you now understand why you have been imprisoned here, my dear
young lady?"

"Yes, yes; I understand it," cried Mdlle. de Cardoville; "cupidity was
added to the hatred which my aunt felt for me. All is explained. Marshal
Simon's daughters, having the same right as I had have, like me, been
imprisoned."

"And yet," cried Rodin, "you and they were not the only victims."

"Who, then, are the others, sir?"

"A young East Indian."

"Prince Djalma?" said Adrienne, hastily.

"For the same reason he has been nearly poisoned with a narcotic."

"Great God!" cried the young girl, clasping her hands in horror. "It is
fearful. That young prince, who was said to have so noble and generous a
character! But I had sent to Cardoville Castle--"

"A confidential person, to fetch the prince to Paris--I know it, my dear
young lady; but, by means of a trick, your friend was got out of the way,
and the young Oriental delivered to his enemies."

"And where is he now?"

"I have only vague information on the subject. I know that he is in
Paris, and do not despair of finding him. I shall pursue my researches
with an almost paternal ardor, for we cannot too much love the rare
qualities of that poor king's son. What a heart, my dear young lady! what
a heart! Oh, it is a heart of gold, pure and bright as the gold of his
country!"

"We must find the prince, sir," said Adrienne with emotion; "let me
entreat you to neglect nothing for that end. He is my relation--alone
here--without support--without assistance."

"Certainly," replied Rodin, with commiseration. "Poor boy!--for he is
almost a boy--eighteen or nineteen years of age--thrown into the heart of
Paris, of this hell--with his fresh, ardent, half-savage passions--with
his simplicity and confidence--to what perils may he not be exposed?"

"Well, we must first find him, sir," said Adrienne, hastily; "and then we
will save him from these dangers. Before I was confined here, I learned
his arrival in France, and sent a confidential person to offer him the
services of an unknown friend. I now see that this mad idea, with which I
have been so much reproached, was a very sensible one. I am more
convinced of it than ever. The prince belongs to my family, and I owe him
a generous hospitality. I had destined for him the lodge I occupied at my
aunt's."

"And you, my dear young lady?"

"To-day, I shall remove to a house, which I had prepared some time ago,
with the determination of quitting Madame de Saint-Dizier, and living
alone as I pleased. Then, sir, as you seem bent upon being the good
genius of our family, be as generous with regard to Prince Djalma, as you
have been to me and Marshal Simon's daughters. I entreat you to discover
the hiding-place of this poor king's son, as you call him; keep my secret
for me, and conduct him to the house offered by the unknown friend. Let
him not disquiet himself about anything; all his wants shall be provided
for; he shall live--like a prince."

"Yes; he will indeed live like a prince, thanks to your royal
munificence. But never was such kind interest better deserved. It is
enough to see (as I have seen) his fine, melancholy countenance--"

"You have seen him, then, sir?" said Adrienne, interrupting Rodin.

"Yes, my dear young lady; I was with him for about two hours. It was
quite enough to judge of him. His charming features are the mirror of his
soul."

"And where did you see him, sir?"

"At your old Chateau de Cardoville, my dear young lady, near which he had
been shipwrecked in a storm, and whither I had gone to--" Rodin hesitated
for a moment, and then, as if yielding to the frankness of his
disposition, added: "Whither I had gone to commit a bad action--a
shameful, miserable action, I must confess!"

"You, sir?--at Cardoville House--to commit a bad action?" cried Adrienne,
much surprised.

"Alas! yes, my dear young lady," answered Rodin with simplicity. "In one
word, I had orders from Abbe d'Aigrigny, to place your former bailiff in
the alternative either of losing his situation or lending himself to a
mean action--something, in fact, that resembled spying and calumny; but
the honest, worthy man refused."

"Why, who are you, sir?" said Mdlle. de Cardoville, more and more
astonished.

"I am Rodin, lately secretary of the Abbe d'Aigrigny--a person of very
little importance, as you see."

It is impossible to describe the accent, at once humble and ingenuous, of
the Jesuit, as he pronounced these words, which he accompanied with a
respectful bow. On this revelation, Mdlle. de Cardoville drew back
abruptly. We have said that Adrienne had sometimes heard talk of Rodin,
the humble secretary of the Abbe d'Aigrigny, as a sort of obedient and
passive machine. That was not all; the bailiff of Cardoville Manor,
writing to Adrienne on the subject of Prince Djalma, had complained of
the perfidious and dishonest propositions of Rodin. She felt, therefore,
a vague suspicion, when she heard that her liberator was the man who had
played so odious a part. Yet this unfavorable feeling was balanced by the
sense of what she owed to Rodin, and by his frank denunciation of Abbe
d'Aigrigny before the magistrate. And then the Jesuit, by his own
confession, had anticipated, as it were, the reproaches that might have
been addressed to him. Still, it was with a kind of cold reserve that
Mdlle. de Cardoville resumed this dialogue, which she had commenced with
as much frankness as warmth and sympathy.

Rodin perceived the impression he had made. He expected it. He was not
the least disconcerted when Mdlle. de Cardoville said to him, as she
fixed upon him a piercing glance, "Ah! you are M. Rodin--secretary to the
Abbe d'Aigrigny?"

"Say ex-secretary, if you please, my dear young lady," answered the
Jesuit; "for you see clearly that I can never again enter the house of
the Abbe d'Aigrigny. I have made of him an implacable enemy, and I am now
without employment--but no matter--nay, so much the better--since, at
this price, the wicked are unmasked, and honest people rescued."

These words, spoken with much simplicity, and dignity, revived a feeling
of pity in Adrienne's heart. She thought within herself that, after all,
the poor old man spoke the truth. Abbe d'Aigrigny's hate, after this
exposure, would be inexorable, and Rodin had braved it for the sake of a
generous action.

Still Mdlle. de Cardoville answered coldly, "Since you knew, sir, that
the propositions you were charged to make to the bailiff of Cardoville
were shameful and perfidious, how could you undertake the mission?"

"How?" replied Rodin, with a sort of painful impatience; "why, because I
was completely under Abbe d'Aigrigny's charm, one of the most
prodigiously clever men I have ever known, and, as I only discovered the
day before yesterday, one of the most prodigiously dangerous men there is
in the world. He had conquered my scruples, by persuading me that the End
justifies the Means. I must confess that the end he seemed to propose to
himself was great and beautiful; but the day before yesterday I was
cruelly undeceived. I was awakened, as it were, by a thunder-peal. Oh, my
dear young lady!" added Rodin, with a sort of embarrassment and
confusion, "let us talk no more of my fatal journey to Cardoville. Though
I was only an ignorant and blind instrument, I feel as ashamed and
grieved at it as if I had acted for myself. It weighs upon me, it
oppresses me. I entreat you, let us speak rather of yourself, and of what
interests you--for the soul expands with generous thoughts, even as the
breast is dilated in pure and healthful air."

Rodin had confessed his fault so spontaneously, he explained it so
naturally, he appeared to regret it so sincerely, that Adrienne, whose
suspicions had no other grounds, felt her distrust a good deal
diminished.

"So," she resumed, still looking attentively at Rodin, "it was at
Cardoville that you saw Prince Djalma?"

"Yes, madame; and my affection for him dates from that interview.
Therefore I will accomplish my task. Be satisfied, my dear young lady;
like you, like Marshal Simon's daughters, the prince shall avoid being
the victim of this detestable plot, which unhappily does not stop there."

"And who besides, then, is threatened?"

"M. Hardy, a man full of honor and probity, who is also your relation,
and interested in this inheritance, but kept away from Paris by infamous
treachery. And another heir, an unfortunate artisan, who falling into a
trap cleverly baited, has been thrown into a prison for debt."

"But, sir," said Adrienne, suddenly, "for whose advantage was this
abominable plot, which really alarms me, first devised?"

"For the advantage of Abbe d'Aigrigny," answered Rodin.

"How, and by what right! Was he also an heir?"

"It would take too long to explain it to you, my dear young lady. You
will know all one day. Only be convinced that your family has no more
bitter enemy that Abbe d'Aigrigny."

"Sir," said Adrienne, giving way to one last suspicion, "I will speak
frankly to you. How can I have deserved the interest that you seem to
take in me, and that you even extend to all the members of my family?"

"My dear young lady," answered Rodin, with a smile, "were I to tell you
the cause, you would only laugh at, or misapprehend me."

"Speak, I beg of you, sir. Do not mistrust me or yourself."

"Well, then, I became interested in you--devoted to you--because your
heart is generous, your mind lofty, your character independent and proud.
Once attached to you, those of your race, who are indeed themselves
worthy of interest, were no longer indifferent to me. To serve them was
to serve you also."

"But, sir--admitting that you suppose me worthy of the too flattering
praises you bestow upon me--how could you judge of my heart, my mind, my
character?"

"I will tell you, my dear young lady; but first I must make another
confession, that fills me with shame. If you were not even so wonderfully
endowed, what you have suffered in this house should suffice to command
the interest of every honest man--don't you think so?"

"I do think it should, sir."

"I might thus explain the interest I feel in you. But no--I confess
it--that would not have sufficed with me. Had you been only Mdlle. de
Cardoville--a rich, noble, beautiful young lady--I should doubtless have
pitied your misfortune; but I should have said to myself, 'This poor
young lady is certainly much to be pitied; but what can I, poor man, do
in it? My only resource is my post of secretary to the Abbe d'Aigrigny,
and he would be the first that must be attacked. He is all-powerful, and
I am nothing. To engage in a struggle with him would be to ruin myself,
without the hope of saving this unfortunate person.' But when I learnt
what you were, my dear young lady, I revolted, in spite of my
inferiority. 'No,' I said, 'a thousand times, no! So fine an intellect,
so great a heart, shall not be the victims of an abominable plot. I may
perish in the struggle, but I will at least make the attempt.'"

No words can paint the mixture of delicacy, energy, and sensibility with
which Rodin uttered these sentiments. As it often happens with people
singularly repulsive and ill-favored, if they can once bring you to
forget their ugliness, their very deformity becomes a source of interest
and commiseration, and you say to yourself, "What a pity that such a
mind, such a soul, should inhabit so poor a body!"--and you are touched
and softened by the contrast.

It was thus that Mdlle. de Cardoville began to look upon Rodin. He had
shown himself as simple and affectionate towards her as he had been
brutal and insolent to Dr. Baleinier. One thing only excited the lively
curiosity of Mdlle. de Cardoville--she wished to know how Rodin had
conceived the devotion and admiration which she seemed to inspire.

"Forgive my indiscreet and obstinate curiosity, sir, but I wish to
know--"

"How you were morally revealed to me--is it not so? Oh, my dear young
lady! nothing is more simple. I will explain it to you in two words. The
Abbe d'Aigrigny saw in me nothing but a writing-machine, an obtuse, mute,
blind instrument--"

"I thought M. d'Aigrigny had more penetration."

"And you are right, my dear young lady; he is a man of unparalleled
sagacity; but I deceived him by affecting more than simplicity. Do not,
therefore, think me false. No; I am proud in my manner--and my pride
consists in never appearing above my position, however subaltern it may
be! Do you know why? It is that, however haughty may be my superiors, I
can say to myself, 'They do not know my value. It is the inferiority of
my condition, not me, that they humiliate.' By this I gain doubly--my
self-love is spared, and I hate no one."

"Yes, I understand that sort of pride," said Adrienne, more and more
struck with Rodin's original turn of mind.

"But let us return to what concerns you, my dear young lady. On the eve
of the 13th of February, the Abbe d'Aigrigny delivered to me a paper in
shorthand, and said to me, 'Transcribe this examination; you may add that
it is to support the decision of a family council, which has declared, in
accordance with the report of Dr. Baleinier, the state of mind of Mdlle.
de Cardoville to be sufficiently alarming to render it necessary to
confine her in a lunatic asylum.'"

"Yes," said Adrienne, with bitterness; "it related to a long interview,
which I had with the Princess de Saint-Dizier, my aunt, and which was
taken down without my knowledge."

"Behold me, then, poring over my shorthand report, and beginning to
transcribe it. At the end of the first ten lines, I was struck with
stupor. I knew not if I were awake or dreaming. 'What! mad?' They must be
themselves insane who dare assert so monstrous a proposition!--More and
more interested, I continued my reading--I finished it--Oh! then, what
shall I say? What I felt, my dear young lady, it is impossible to
express. It was sympathy, delight, enthusiasm!"

"Sir," said Adrienne.

"Yes, my dear young lady, enthusiasm! Let not the words shock your
modesty. Know that these ideas, so new, so independent, so courageous
which you expressed to your aunt with so much brilliancy, are, without
your being aware of it, common to you and another person, for whom you
will one day feel the most tender and religious respect."

"Of whom do you speak, sir?" cried Mdlle. de Cardoville, more and more
interested.

After a moment's apparent hesitation, Rodin resumed, "No, no--it is
useless now to inform you of it. All I can tell you, my dear young lady,
is that, when I had finished my reading, I ran to Abbe d'Aigrigny's, to
convince him of the error into which he had fallen with regard to you. It
was impossible then to find him; but yesterday morning I told him plainly
what I thought. He only appeared surprised to find that I could think at
all. He received my communications with contemptuous silence. I thought
him deceived; I continued my remonstrances, but quite in vain. He ordered
me to follow him to the house, where the testament of your ancestor was
to be opened. I was so blind with regard to the Abbe d'Aigrigny, that it
required the successive arrivals of the soldier, of his son, and of
Marshal Simon's father, to open my eyes thoroughly. Their indignation
unveiled to me the extent of a conspiracy, plotted long ago, and carried
on with terrible ability. Then, I understood why you were confined here
as a lunatic; why the daughters of Marshal Simon were imprisoned in a
convent. Then a thousand recollections returned to my mind; fragments of
letters and statements, which had been given me to copy or decipher, and
of which I had never been able to find the explanation, put me on the
track of this odious machination. To express then and there the sudden
horror I felt at these crimes, would have been to ruin all. I did not
make this mistake. I opposed cunning to cunning; I appeared even more
eager than Abbe d'Aigrigny. Had this immense inheritance been destined
for me alone, I could not have shown myself more grasping and merciless.
Thanks to this stratagem, Abbe d'Aigrigny had no suspicion. A
providential accident having rescued the inheritance from his hands, he
left the house in a state of profound consternation. For my part, I felt
indescribable joy; for I had now the means of saving and avenging you, my
dear young lady. As usual, I went yesterday evening to my place of
business. During the absence of the abbe, it was easy for me to peruse
the correspondence relative to the inheritance. In this way I was able to
unite all the threads of this immense plot. Oh! then, my dear young lady,
I remained, struck with horror, in presence of the discoveries that I
made, and that I never should have made under any other circumstances."

"What discoveries, sir?"

"There are some secrets which are terrible to those who possess them. Do
not ask me to explain, my dear young lady; but, in this examination, the
league formed against you and your relations, from motives of insatiable
cupidity, appeared to me in all its dark audacity. Thereupon, the lively
and deep interest which I already felt for you, my dear young lady, was
augmented greatly, and extended itself to the other innocent victims of
this infernal conspiracy. In spite of my weakness, I determined to risk
all, to unmask the Abbe d'Aigrigny. I collected the necessary proofs, to
give my declaration before the magistrate the needful authority; and,
this morning, I left the abbe's house without revealing to him my
projects. He might have employed some violent method to detain me; yet it
would have been cowardly to attack him without warning. Once out of his
house, I wrote to him, that I had in my hands proof enough of his crimes,
to attack him openly in the face of day. I would accuse, and he must
defend himself. I went directly to a magistrate, and you know the rest."

At this juncture, the door opened, and one of the nurses appeared, and
said to Rodin: "Sir, the messenger that you and the magistrate sent to
the Rue Brise-Miche has just come back."

"Has he left the letter?"

"Yes, sir; and it was taken upstairs directly."

"Very well. Leave us!" The nurse went out.




CHAPTER XXXV.

SYMPATHY.

If it had been possible for Mdlle. de Cardoville to harbor any suspicion
of the sincerity of Rodin's devotion, it must have given way before this
reasoning, unfortunately so simple and undeniable. How could she suppose
the faintest complicity between the Abbe d'Aigrigny and his secretary,
when it was the latter who completely unveiled the machinations of his
master, and exposed them to the tribunals? when in this, Rodin went even
further than Mdlle. de Cardoville would herself have gone? Of what secret
design could she suspect the Jesuit? At worst, of a desire to earn by his
services the profitable patronage of the young lady.

And then, had he not just now protested against this supposition, by
declaring his devotion, not to Mdlle. de Cardoville--not to the fair,
rich, noble lady--but to the high-souled and generous girl? Finally, as
Rodin had said himself, could any but a miserable wretch fail to be
interested in Adrienne's fate? A strange mixture of curiosity, surprise,
and interest, was joined with Mdlle. de Cardoville's feelings of
gratitude towards Rodin. Yet, as she recognized the superior mind under
that humble exterior, she was suddenly struck with a grave suspicion.
"Sir," said she to Rodin, "I always confess to the persons I esteem the
doubts they may have inspired, so that they may justify themselves, and
excuse me, if I am wrong."

Rodin looked at Mdlle. de Cardoville with surprise, as if mentally
calculating the suspicions than she might entertain, and replied, after a
moment's silence: "You are perhaps thinking of my journey to Cardoville,
of my base proposals to your good and worthy bailiff? Oh! if you--"

"No, no, sir," said Adrienne, interrupting him; "you made that confession
spontaneously, and I quite understand, that, blinded with regard to M.
d'Aigrigny, you passively executed instructions repugnant to your
delicacy. But how comes it, that, with your incontestable merits, you
have so long; occupied so mean a position in his service?"

"It is true," said Rodin, with a smile; "that must impress you
unfavorably, my dear young lady; for a man of any capacity, who remains
long in an inferior condition, has evidently some radical vice, some bad
or base passion--"

"It is generally true, sir."

"And personally true--with regard to myself."

"What, sir! do you make this avowal?"

"Alas! I confess that I have a bad passion, to which, for forty years, I
have sacrificed all chances of attaining to a better position."

"And this passion, sir?"

"Since I must make the unpleasant avowal, this passion is indolence--yes,
indolence--the horror of all activity of mind, of all moral
responsibility, of taking the lead in anything. With the twelve hundred
francs that Abbe d'Aigrigny gave me, I was the happiest man in the world;
I trusted to the nobleness of his views; his thoughts became mine, his
wishes mine. My work once finished, I returned to my poor little chamber,
I lighted my fire, I dined on vegetables--then, taking up some book of
philosophy, little known, and dreaming over it, I gave free course to my
imagination, which, restrained all the day long, carried me through
numberless theories to a delicious Utopia. Then, from the eminences of my
intelligence, lifted up Lord knows whither, by the audacity of my
thoughts, I seemed to look down upon my master, and upon the great men of
the earth. This fever lasted for three or four hours, after which I had a
good sleep; and, the next morning, I went lightly to my work, secure of
my daily bread, without cares for the future, living content with little,
waiting with impatience for the delights of my solitary evening, and
saying to myself as I went on writing like a stupid machine: 'And
yet--and yet--if I chose!'--"

"Doubtless, you could, like others, surer than others, have reached a
higher position," said Adrienne, greatly struck with Rodin's practical
philosophy.

"Yes, I think I could have done so; but for what purpose?--You see, my
dear young lady, what often renders people of some merit puzzles to the
vulgar, is that they are frequently content to say: 'If I chose!'"

"But, sir, without attaching much importance to the luxuries of life,
there is a certain degree of comfort, which age renders almost
indispensable, and which you seem to have utterly renounced."

"Undeceive yourself, if you please, my dear young lady," said Rodin, with
a playful smile. "I am a true Sybarite; I require absolutely warm
clothes, a good stove, a soft mattress, a good piece of bread, a fresh
radish, flavored with good cheap salt, and some good, clear water; and,
notwithstanding this complication of wants, my twelve hundred francs have
always more than sufficed, for I have been able to make some little
savings."

"But now that you are without employment, how will you manage to live,
sir?" said Adrienne, more and more interested by the singularities of
this man, and wishing to put his disinterestedness to the proof.

"I have laid by a little, which will serve me till I have unravelled the
last thread of Father d'Aigrigny's dark designs. I owe myself this
reparation, for having been his dupe; three or four days, I hope, will
complete the work. After that, I have the certainty of meeting with a
situation, in my native province, under a collector of taxes: some time
ago, the offer was made me by a friend; but then I would not leave Father
d'Aigrigny, notwithstanding the advantages proposed. Fancy, my dear young
lady--eight hundred francs, with board and lodging! As I am a little of
the roughest, I should have preferred lodging apart; but, as they give me
so much, I must submit to this little inconvenience."

Nothing could exceed Rodin's ingenuity, in making these little household
confidences (so abominably false) to Mdlle. de Cardoville, who felt her
last suspicions give way.

"What, sir?" said she to the Jesuit, with interest; "in three or four
days, you mean to quit Paris?"

"I hope to do so, my dear young lady; and that," added he, in a
mysterious tone, "and that for many reasons. But what would be very
precious to me," he resumed, in a serious voice, as he looked at Adrienne
with emotion, "would be to carry with me the conviction, that you did me
the justice to believe, that, on merely reading your interview with the
Princess de Saint-Dizier, I recognized at once qualities quite unexampled
in our day, in a young person of your age and condition."