by Eugène Sue
“With regard to that, your Eminence may be assured that I always refuse assistance to any poor person who cannot produce a certificate from the confessional.”
“And it is only thus, madame,” resumed the cardinal, this time allowing himself to be tempted by the attractions of the crawfish’s tails, “it is only thus that charity has any meaning. I care little that the irreligious should feel hunger, but with the pious it is different;” and the prelate gayly swallowed a mouthful. “Moreover,” resumed he, “it is well known with what ardent zeal you pursue the impious, and those who are rebels against the authority of our Holy Father.”
“Your Eminence may feel convinced that I am Roman in heart and soul; I see no difference between a Gallican and a Turk,” said the princess, bravely.
“The princess is right,” said the Belgian bishop: “I will go further, and assert that a Gallican should be more odious to the church than a pagan. In this respect I am of the opinion of Louis XIV. They asked him a favor for a man about the court. ‘Never,’ said the great king; ‘this person is a Jansenist.’— ‘No, sire; he is an atheist.’— ‘Oh! that is different; I will grant what he asks,’ said the King.”
This little episcopal jest made them all laugh. After which Father d’Aigrigny resumed seriously, addressing the cardinal: “Unfortunately, as I was about to observe to your Eminence with regard to the Abbe Gabriel, unless they are very narrowly watched, the lower clergy have a tendency to become infected with dissenting views, and with ideas of rebellion against what they call the despotism of the bishops.”
“This young man must be a Catholic Luther!” said the bishop. And, walking on tip-toe, he went to pour himself out a glorious glass of Madeira, in which he soaked some sweet cake, made in the form of a crozier.
Led by his example, the Cardinal, under pretence of warming his feet by drawing still closer to the fire, helped himself to an excellent glass of old Malaga, which he swallowed by mouthfuls, with an air of profound meditation; after which he resumed: “So this Abbe Gabriel starts as a reformer. He must be an ambitious man. Is he dangerous?”
“By our advice his superiors have judged him to be so. They have ordered him to come hither. He will soon be here, and I will tell your Eminence why I have sent for him. But first, I have a note on the dangerous tendencies of the Abbe Gabriel. Certain questions were addressed to him, with regard to some of his acts, and it was in consequence of his answers that his superiors recalled him.”
So saying, Father d’Aigrigny, took from his pocket-book a paper, which he read as follows:
“‘Question. — Is it true that you performed religious rites for an inhabitant of your parish who died in final impenitence of the most detestable kind, since he had committed suicide?
“‘Answer of Abbe Gabriel. — I paid him the last duties, because, more than any one else, because of his guilty end, he required the prayers of the church. During the night which followed his interment I continually implored for him the divine mercy.
“‘Q. — Is it true that you refused a set of silver-gilt sacramental vessels, and other ornaments, with which one of the faithful, in pious zeal, wished to endow your parish?
“‘A. — I refused the vessels and embellishments, because the house of the Lord should be plain and without ornament, so as to remind the faithful that the divine Saviour was born in a stable. I advised the person who wished to make these useless presents to my parish to employ the money in judicious almsgiving, assuring him it would be more agreeable to the Lord.’”
“What a bitter and violent declamation against the adorning of our temples!” cried the cardinal. “This young priest is most dangerous. Continue, my good father.”
And, in his indignation, his Eminence swallowed several mouthfuls of strawberry-cream. Father d’Aigrigny continued.
“‘Q. — Is it true that you received in your parsonage, and kept there for some days, an inhabitant of the village, by birth a Swiss, belonging to the Protestant communion? Is it true that not only you did not attempt to convert him to the one Catholic and Apostolic faith, but that you carried so far the neglect of your sacred duties as to inter this heretic in the ground consecrated for the repose of true believers?
“‘A. — One of my brethren was houseless. His life had been honest and laborious. In his old age his strength had failed him, and sickness had come at the back of it; almost in a dying state, he had been driven from his humble dwelling by a pitiless landlord, to whom he owed a year’s rent. I received the old man in my house, and soothed his last days. The poor creature had toiled and suffered all his life; dying, he uttered no word of bitterness at his hard fate; he recommended his soul to God and piously kissed the crucifix. His pure and simple spirit returned to the bosom of its Creator. I closed his eyes with respect, I buried him, I prayed for him; and, though he died in the Protestant faith, I thought him worthy of a place in consecrated ground.’”
“Worse and worse!” said the cardinal. “This tolerance is monstrous. It is a horrible attack on that maxim of Catholicism: ‘Out of the pale of the Church there is no salvation.’”
“And all this is the more serious, my lord,” resumed Father d’Aigrigny, “because the mildness, charity, and Christian devotion of Abbe Gabriel have excited, not only in his parish, but in all the surrounding districts, the greatest enthusiasm. The priests of the neighboring parishes have yielded to the general impulse, and it must be confessed that but for his moderation a wide-spread schism would have commenced.”
“But what do you hope will result from bringing him here?” said the prelate.
“The position of Abbe Gabriel is complicated; first of all, he is the heir of the Rennepont family.”
“But has he not ceded his rights?” asked the cardinal.
“Yes, my lord; and this cession, which was at first informal, has lately, with his free consent, been made perfectly regular in law; for he had sworn, happen what might, to renounce his part of the inheritance in favor of the Society of Jesus. Nevertheless, his Reverence Father Rodin thinks, that if your Eminence, after explaining to Abbe Gabriel that he was about to be recalled by his superiors, were to propose to him some eminent position at Rome, he might be induced to leave France, and we might succeed in arousing within him those sentiments of ambition which are doubtless only sleeping for the present; your Eminence, having observed, very judiciously, that every reformer must be ambitious.”
“I approve of this idea,” said the cardinal, after a moment’s reflection; “with his merit and power of acting on other men, Abbe Gabriel may rise very high, if he is docile; and if he should not be so, it is better for the safety of the Church that he should be at Rome than here — for you know, my good father, we have securities that are unfortunately wanting in France.”(36)
After some moments of silence, the cardinal said suddenly to Father d’Aigrigny: “As we were talking of Father Rodin, tell me frankly what you think of him.”
“Your Eminence knows his capacity,” said Father d’Aigrigny, with a constrained and suspicious air; “our reverend Father-General—”
“Commissioned him to take your place,” said the cardinal; “I know that. He told me so at Rome. But what do you think of the character of Father Rodin? Can one have full confidence in him?”
“He has so complete, so original, so secret, and so impenetrable a mind,” said Father d’Aigrigny, with hesitation, “that it is difficult to form any certain judgment with respect to him.”
“Do you think him ambitious?” said the cardinal, after another moment’s pause. “Do you not suppose him capable of having other views than those of the greater glory of his Order? — Come, I have reasons for speaking thus,” added the prelate, with emphasis.
“Why,” resumed Father d’Aigrigny, not without suspicion, for the game is played cautiously between people of the same craft, “what should your Eminence think of him, either from your own observation, or from the report of the Father-General?”
“I think — that if
his apparent devotion to his Order really concealed some after-thought — it would be well to discover it — for, with the influence that he has obtained at Rome (as I have found out), he might one day, and that shortly, become very formidable.”
“Well!” cried Father d’Aigrigny, impelled by his jealousy of Rodin; “I am, in this respect, of the same opinion as your Eminence; for I have sometimes perceived in him flashes of ambition, that were as alarming as they were extraordinary — and since I must tell all to your Eminence—”
Father d’Aigrigny was unable to continue; at this moment Mrs. Grivois, who had been knocking at the door, half-opened it, and made a sign to her mistress. The princess answered by bowing her head, and Mrs. Grivois again withdrew. A second afterwards Rodin entered the room.
(36) It is known that, in 1845, the Inquisition, solitary confinement, etc., still existed at Rome.
CHAPTER XVII. RENDERING THE ACCOUNT.
AT SIGHT OF Rodin, the two prelates and Father d’Aigrigny rose spontaneously, so much were they overawed by the real superiority of this man; their faces, just before contracted with suspicion and jealousy, suddenly brightened up, and seemed to smile on the reverend father with affectionate deference. The princess advanced some steps to meet him.
Rodin, badly dressed as ever, leaving on the soft carpet the muddy track of his clumsy shoes, put his umbrella into one corner, and advanced towards the table — not with his accustomed humility, but with slow step, uplifted head, and steady glance; not only did he feel himself in the midst of his partisans, but he knew that he could rule them all by the power of his intellect.
“We were speaking of your reverence, my dear, good father,” said the cardinal, with charming affability.
“Ah!” said Rodin, looking fixedly at the prelate; “and what were you saying?”
“Why,” replied the Belgian bishop, wiping his forehead, “all the good that can be said of your reverence.”
“Will you not take something, my good father?” said the princess to Rodin, as she pointed to the splendid sideboard.
“Thank you, madame, I have eaten my radish already this morning.”
“My secretary, Abbe Berlini, who was present at your repast, was, indeed, much astonished at your reverence’s frugality,” said the prelate: “it is worthy of an anchorite.”
“Suppose we talk of business,” said Rodin, abruptly, like a man accustomed to lead and control the discussion.
“We shall always be most happy to hear you,” said the prelate. “Your reverence yourself fixed to-day to talk over this great Rennepont affair. It is of such importance, that it was partly the cause of my journey to France; for to support the interests of the glorious Company of Jesus, with which I have the honor of being associated, is to support the interests of Rome itself, and I promised the reverend Father-General that I would place myself entirely at your orders.”
“I can only repeat what his Eminence has just said,” added the bishop. “We set out from Rome together, and our ideas are just the same.”
“Certainly,” said Rodin, addressing the cardinal, “your Eminence may serve our cause, and that materially. I will tell you how presently.”
Then, addressing the princess, he continued: “I have desired Dr. Baleinier to come here, madame, for it will be well to inform him of certain things.”
“He will be admitted as usual,” said the princess.
Since Rodin’s arrival Father d’Aigrigny had remained silent; he seemed occupied with bitter thoughts, and with some violent internal struggle. At last, half rising, he said to the prelate, in a forced tone of voice: “I will not ask your Eminence to judge between the reverend Father Rodin and myself. Our General has pronounced, and I have obeyed. But, as your Eminence will soon see our superior, I should wish that you would grant me the favor to report faithfully the answers of Father Rodin to one or two questions I am about to put to him.”
The prelate bowed. Rodin looked at Father d’Aigrigny with an air of surprise, and said to him, dryly: “The thing is decided. What is the use of questions?”
“Not to justify myself,” answered Father d’Aigrigny, “but to place matters in their true light before his Eminence.”
“Speak, then; but let us have no useless speeches,” said Rodin, drawing out his large silver watch, and looking at it. “By two o’clock I must be at Saint-Sulpice.”
“I will be as brief as possible,” said Father d’Aigrigny, with repressed resentment. Then, addressing Rodin, he resumed: “When your reverence thought fit to take my place, and to blame, very severely perhaps, the manner in which I had managed the interests confided to my care, I confess honestly that these interests were gravely compromised.”
“Compromised?” said Rodin, ironically; “you mean lost. Did you not order me to write to Rome, to bid them renounce all hope?”
“That is true,” said Father d’Aigrigny.
“It was then a desperate case, given up by the best doctors,” continued Rodin, with irony, “and yet I have undertaken to restore it to life. Go on.”
And, plunging both hands into the pockets of his trousers, he looked Father d’Aigrigny full in the face.
“Your reverence blamed me harshly,” resumed Father d’Aigrigny, “not for having sought, by every possible means, to recover the property odiously diverted from our society—”
“All your casuists authorize you to do so,” said the cardinal; “the texts are clear and positive; you have a right to recover; per fas aut nefas what has been treacherously taken from you.”
“And therefore,” resumed Father d’Aigrigny, “Father Rodin only reproached me with the military roughness of my means. ‘Their violence,’ he said, ‘was in dangerous opposition to the manners of the age.’ Be it so; but first of all, I could not be exposed to any legal proceedings, and, but for one fatal circumstance, success would have crowned the course I had taken, however rough and brutal it may appear. Now, may I ask your reverence what—”
“What I have done more than you?” said Rodin to Father d’Aigrigny, giving way to his impertinent habit of interrupting people; “what I have done better than you? — what step I have taken in the Rennepont affair, since I received it from you in a desperate condition? Is that what you wish to know?”
“Precisely,” said Father d’Aigrigny, dryly.
“Well, I confess,” resumed Rodin, in a sardonic tone, “just as you did great things, coarse things, turbulent things, I have been doing little, puerile, secret things. Oh, heaven! you cannot imagine what a foolish part I, who passed for a man of enlarged views, have been acting for the last six weeks.”
“I should never have allowed myself to address such a reproach to your reverence, however deserved it may appear,” said Father d’Aigrigny, with a bitter smile.
“A reproach?” said Rodin, shrugging his shoulders; “a reproach? You shall be the judge. Do you know what I wrote about you, some six weeks ago? Here it is: ‘Father d’Aigrigny has excellent qualities. He will be of much service to me’ — and from to-morrow I shall employ you very actively, added Rodin, by way of parenthesis— ‘but he is not great enough to know how to make himself little on occasion.’ Do you understand?”
“Not very well,” said Father d’Aigrigny, blushing.
“So much the worse for you,” answered Rodin; “it only proves that I was right. Well, since I must tell you, I have been wise enough to play the most foolish part for six whole weeks. Yes, I have chatted nonsense with a grisette — have talked of liberty, progress, humanity, emancipation of women, with a young, excited girl; of Napoleon the Great, and all sorts of Bonapartist idolatry, with an old, imbecile soldier; of imperial glory, humiliation of France, hopes in the King of Rome, with a certain marshal of France, who, with a heart full of adoration for the robber of thrones, that was transported to Saint-Helena, has a head as hollow and sonorous as a trumpet, into which you have only to blow some warlike or patriotic notes, and it will flourish away of itself, without knowing why or how. More tha
n all this, I have talked of love affairs with a young tiger. When I told you it was lamentable to see a man of any intelligence descend, as I have done, to all such petty ways of connecting the thousand threads of this dark web, was I not right? Is it not a fine spectacle to see the spider obstinately weaving its net? — to see the ugly little black animal crossing thread upon thread, fastening it here, strengthening it there, and again lengthening it in some other place? You shrug your shoulders in pity; but return two hours after — what will you find? The little black animal eating its fill, and in its web a dozen of the foolish flies, bound so securely, that the little black animal has only to choose the moment of its repast.”
As he uttered those words, Rodin smiled strangely; his eyes, gradually half closed, opened to their full width, and seemed to shine more than usual. The Jesuit felt a sort of feverish excitement, which he attributed to the contest in which he had engaged before these eminent personages, who already felt the influence of his original and cutting speech.
Father d’Aigrigny began to regret having entered on the contest. He resumed, however, with ill-repressed irony: “I do not dispute the smallness of your means. I agree with you, they are very puerile — they are even very vulgar. But that is not quite sufficient to give an exalted notion of your merit. May I be allowed to ask—”
“What these means have produced?” resumed Rodin, with an excitement that was not usual with him. “Look into my spider’s web, and you will see there the beautiful and insolent young girl, so proud, six weeks ago, of her grace, mind, and audacity — now pale, trembling, mortally wounded at the heart.”
“But the act of chivalrous intrepidity of the Indian prince, with which all Paris is ringing,” said the princess, “must surely have touched Mdlle. de Cardoville.”