Le Juif errant. English

by Eugène Sue

  CHAPTER LXVIII. THE FIRST OF JUNE.

  The chapel belonging to the house of the reverend fathers in the Rue deVaugirard, was gay and elegant. Large panes of stained glass admitteda mysterious light; the altar shone with gold and silver; and at theentrance of this little church, in an obscure corner beneath the organloft, was a font for holy water in sculptured marble. It was close tothis font, in a dark nook where he could hardly be seen, that Faringheaknelt down, early on the 1st of June, as soon indeed as the chapel doorswere opened. The half-caste was exceedingly sad. From time to time hestarted and sighed, as if agitated by a violent internal struggle.This wild, untamable being, possessed with the monomania of evil anddestruction, felt, as may be imagined, a profound admiration for Rodin,who exercised over him a kind of magnetic fascination. The half-caste,almost a wild beast in human form, saw something supernatural in theinfernal genius of Rodin. And the latter, too sagacious not to havediscovered the savage devotion of this wretch, had made, as we haveseen, good use of him, is bringing about the tragical termination of theloves of Adrienne and Djalma. But what excited to an incredible degreethe admiration of Faringhea, was what he knew of the Society ofJesus. This immense, occult power, which undermined the world by itssubterraneous ramifications, and reached its ends by diabolical means,had inspired the half-caste with a wild enthusiasm. And if anything inthe world surpassed his fanatical admiration for Rodin, it was his blinddevotion to the Company of Ignatius de Loyola, which, as he said, couldmake corpses that walk about. Hid in the shadow of the organ-loft,Faringhea was reflecting deeply on these things, when footsteps wereheard, and Rodin entered the chapel, accompanied by his socius, thelittle one-eyed father.

  Whether from absence of mind, or that the shadow of the orange-loftcompletely concealed the half-caste, Rodin dipped his fingers into thefont without perceiving Faringhea, who stood motionless as a statue,though a cold sweat streamed from his brow. The prayer of Rodin was,as may be supposed, short; he was in haste to get to the RueSaint-Francois. After kneeling down with Father Caboccini for a fewseconds, he rose, bowed respectfully to the altar, and returned towardsthe door, followed by his socius. At the moment Rodin approached thefont he perceived the tall figure of the half-caste standing out fromthe midst of the dark shadow; advancing a little, Faringhea bowedrespectfully to Rodin, who said to him, in a low voice; "Come to me attwo o'clock."

  So saying, Rodin stretched forth his hand to dip it into the holy water;but Faringhea spared him the trouble, by offering him the sprinklingbrush, which generally stood in the font.

  Pressing between his dirty fingers the damp hairs of the brush,which the half-caste held by the handle, Rodin wetted his thumb andforefinger, and, according to custom, traced the sign of the cross uponhis forehead. Then, opening the door of the chapel, he went out, afteragain repeating to Faringhea: "Come to me at two o'clock."

  Thinking he would also make use of the sprinkling-brush, which,Faringhea, still motionless, held with a trembling hand, FatherCaboccini stretched out his fingers to reach it, when the half-breed,as if determined to confine his favors to Rodin, hastily withdrew theinstrument. Deceived in his expectation, Father Caboccini lost no timein following Rodin, whom he was not to leave that day for a singlemoment, and, getting into a hackney-coach with him, set out for the RueSaint-Francois. It is impossible to describe the look which the halfbreed fixed upon Rodin as the latter quitted the chapel. Left alone inthe sacred edifice, Faringhea sank upon the stones, half kneeling, halfcrouching, with his face buried in his hands. As the coach drew nearthe quarter of the Marais, in which was situated the house of Mariusde Rennepont, a feverish agitation, and the devouring impatience oftriumph, were visible on the countenance of Rodin. Two or three times heopened his pocketbook, and read and arranged the different certificatesof death of the various members of the Rennepont family; and from timeto time he thrust his head anxiously from the coach-window, as if he hadwished to hasten the slow progress of the vehicle.

  The good little father, his socius, did not take his eye off Rodin, andhis look had a strange and crafty expression. At last the coach enteredthe Rue Saint-Francois, and stopped before the iron-studded door of theold house, which had been closed for a century and a half. Rodin sprangfrom the coach with the agility of a young man, and knocked violentlyat the door, whilst Father Caboccini, less light of foot, descended moreprudently to the ground. No answer was returned to the loud knockingof Rodin. Trembling with anxiety, he knocked again. This time, as helistened attentively, he heard slow steps approaching. They stopped atsome distance from the door, which was not yet opened.

  "It is keeping one upon red-hot coals," said Rodin, for he felt asif there was a burning fire in his chest. He again shook the doorviolently, and began to gnaw his nails according to his custom.

  Suddenly the door opened, and Samuel, the Jew guardian, appeared beneaththe porch. The countenance of the old man expressed bitter grief. Uponhis venerable cheeks were the traces of recent tears, which he strove todry with his trembling hands, as he opened the door to Rodin.

  "Who are you, gentlemen?" said Samuel.

  "I am the bearer of a power of attorney from the Abbe Gabriel, the onlyliving representative of the Rennepont family," answered Rodin,hastily. "This gentleman is my secretary," added he, pointing to FatherCaboccini, who bowed.

  After looking attentively at Rodin, Samuel resumed: "I recognize you,sir. Please to follow me." And the old guardian advanced towards thehouse in the garden, making a sign to the two reverend fathers tofollow.

  "That confounded old man kept me so long at the door," said Rodin to hissocius, "that I think I have caught a cold in consequence. My lips andthroat are dried up, like parchment baked at the fire."

  "Will you not take something, my dear, good father? Suppose you were toask this man for a glass of water," cried the little one-eyed priest,with tender solicitude.

  "No, no," answered Rodin; "it is nothing. I am devoured by impatience.That is all."

  Pale and desolate, Bathsheba, the wife of Samuel, was standing at thedoor of the apartment she occupied with her husband, in the buildingnext the street. As the Jew passed before her, he said, in Hebrew: "Thecurtains of the Hall of Mourning?"

  "Are closed."

  "And the iron casket?"

  "Is prepared," answered Bathsheba, also in Hebrew.

  After pronouncing these words, completely unintelligible to Rodinand Caboccini, Samuel and Bathsheba exchanged a bitter smile,notwithstanding the despair impressed on their countenances.

  Ascending the steps, followed by the two reverend fathers, Samuelentered the vestibule of the house, in which a lamp was burning. Endowedwith an excellent local memory, Rodin was about to take the directionof the Red Saloon, in which had been held the first convocation of theheirs, when Samuel stopped him, and said: "It is not that way."

  Then, taking the lamp, he advanced towards a dark staircase, for thewindows of the house had not been un-bricked.

  "But," said Rodin, "the last time, we met in a saloon on the groundfloor."

  "To-day, we must go higher," answered Samuel, as he began slowly toascend the stairs.

  "Where to? higher!" said Rodin, following him.

  "To the Hall of Mourning," replied the Jew, and he continued to ascend.

  "What is the Hall of Mourning?" resumed Rodin, in some surprise.

  "A place of tears and death," answered the Israelite; and he kept onascending through the darkness, for the little lamp threw but a faintlight around.

  "But," said Rodin, more and more astonished, and stopping short on thestairs, "why go to this place?"

  "The money is there," answered Samuel, and he went on,

  "Oh? if the money is there, that alters the case," replied Rodin; and hemade haste to regain the few steps he had lost by stopping.

  Samuel continued to ascend, and, at a turn of the staircase, the twoJesuits could see by the pale light of the little lamp, the profile ofthe old Israelite, in the space left between the iron balustrade and thewall,
as he climbed on with difficulty above them. Rodin was struck withthe expression of Samuel's countenance. His black eyes, generallyso calm, sparkled with ardor. His features, usually impressed with amixture of sorrow, intelligence, and goodness, seemed to grow harsh andstern, and his thin lips wore a strange smile.

  "It is not so very high," whispered Rodin to Caboccini, "and yet my legsache, and I am quite out of breath. There is a strange throbbing too inmy temples."

  In fact, Rodin breathed hard, and with difficulty. To this confidentialcommunication, good little Father Caboccini, in general so full oftender care for his colleague, made no answer. He seemed to be in deepthought.

  "Will we soon be there?" said Rodin, impatiently, to Samuel.

  "We are there," replied the Israelite.

  "And a good thing too," said Rodin.

  "Very good," said the Jew.

  Stopping in the midst of a corridor, he pointed with the hand in whichhe held the lamp to a large door from which streamed a faint light. Inspite of his growing surprise. Rodin entered resolutely, followedby Father Caboccini and Samuel. The apartment in which these threepersonage, now found themselves was very large. The daylight onlyentered from a belvedere in the roof, the four sides of which had beencovered with leaden plates, each of which was pierced with seven holes,forming a cross, thus:

  * * * * * * *

  Now, the light being only admitted through these holes, the obscuritywould have been complete, had it not been for a lamp, which burned on alarge massive slab of black marble, fixed against one of the walls.One would have taken it for a funeral chamber, for it was all hung withblack curtains, fringed with white. There was no furniture, save theslab of black marble we have already mentioned. On this slab was an ironcasket, of the manufacture of the seventeenth century, admirably adornedwith open work, like lace made of metal.

  Addressing Rodin, who was wiping his forehead with his dirtyhandkerchief, and looking round him with surprise, but not fear, Samuelsaid to him: "The will of the testator, however strange it may appear,is sacred with me, and must be accomplished in all things."

  "Certainly," said Rodin; "but what are we to do here?"

  "You will know presently, sir. You are the representative of the onlyremaining heir of the Rennepont family, the Abbe Gabriel de Rennepont?"

  "Yes, sir, and here are my papers," replied Rodin.

  "To save time," resumed Samuel, "I will, previous to the arrival of themagistrate, go through the inventory of the securities contained inthis casket, which I withdrew yesterday from the custody of the Bank ofFrance."

  "The securities are there?" cried Rodin, advancing eagerly towards thecasket.

  "Yes, sir," replied Samuel, "as by the list. Your secretary will callthem over, and I will produce each in turn. They can then be replacedin the casket, which I will deliver up to you in presence of themagistrate."

  "All this seems perfectly correct," said Rodin.

  Samuel delivered the list to Father Caboccini, and approaching thecasket, touched a spring, which was not seen by Rodin. The heavy lidflew open, and, while Father Caboccini read the names of the differentsecurities, Samuel showed them to Rodin, who returned them to the oldJew, after a careful examination. This verification did not last long,for this immense fortune was all comprised, as we already know, in eightgovernment securities, five hundred thousand francs in bank-note,thirty five thousand francs in gold, and two hundred and fifty francs insilver--making in all an amount of two hundred and twelve millions, onehundred and seventy-five thousand francs. When Rodin had counted thelast of the five hundred bank-notes, of a thousand francs each, hesaid, as he returned them to Samuel: "It is quite right. Two hundred andtwelve millions, one hundred and seventy-five thousand francs!"

  He was no doubt almost choked with joy, for he breathed with difficulty,his eyes closed, and he was obliged to lean upon Father Caboccini's arm,as he said to him in an altered voice: "It is singular. I thought myselfproof against all such emotions; but what I feel is extraordinary."

  The natural paleness of the Jesuit increased so much, and he seemedso much agitated with convulsive movements, that Father Cabocciniexclaimed: "My dear father, collect yourself; do not let successovercome you thus."

  Whilst the little one-eyed man was, attending to Rodin, Samuel carefullyreplaced the securities in the iron casket. Thanks to his unconquerableenergy, and to the joy he felt at seeing himself so near the term of hislabors, Rodin mastered this attack of weakness, and drawing himself up,calm and proud, he said to Caboccini: "It is nothing. I did not survivethe cholera to die of joy on the first of June."

  And, though still frightfully pale, the countenance of the Jesuit shonewith audacious confidence. But now, when Rodin appeared to be quiterecovered, Father Caboccini seemed suddenly transformed. Though short,fat, and one-eyed, his features assumed on the instant so firm, harsh,and commanding an expression, that Rodin recoiled a step as he looked athim. Then Father Caboccini, drawing a paper from his pocket, kissed itrespectfully, glanced sternly at Rodin, and read as follows, in a severeand menacing tone:

  "'On receipt of the present rescript, the Reverend Father Rodin willdeliver up all his powers to the Reverend Father Caboccini, who isalone commissioned, with the Reverend Father d'Aigrigny, to receive theinheritance of the Rennepont family, if, in His eternal justice,the Lord should restore this property, of which our Company has beenwronged.

  "'Moreover, on receipt of the present rescript, the Reverend FatherRodin, in charge of a person to be named by the Reverend FatherCaboccini, shall be conveyed to our house in the Town of Laval, to bekept in strict seclusion in his cell until further orders.'"

  Then Father Caboccini handed the rescript to Rodin, that the lattermight read the signature of the General of the Company. Samuel, greatlyinterested by this scene, drew a few steps nearer, leaving the caskethalf-open. Suddenly, Rodin burst into a loud laugh--a laugh of joy,contempt and triumph, impossible to describe. Father Caboccini lookedat him with angry astonishment; when Rodin, growing still more imperiousand haughty, and with an air of more sovereign disdain than ever, pushedaside the paper with the back of his dirty hand and said: "What is thedate of that scribble?"

  "The eleventh of May," answered Father Caboccini in amazement.

  "Here is a brief, that I received last night from Rome, under date ofthe eighteenth. It informs me that I am appointed GENERAL OF THE ORDER.Read!"

  Father Caboccini took the paper, read it, and remained thunderstruck.Then, returning it humbly to Rodin, he respectfully bent his knee beforehim. Thus seemed the ambitious views of Rodin accomplished. In spite ofthe hatred and suspicion of that party, of which Cardinal Malipieri wasthe representative and the chief, Rodin, by address and craft, audacityand persuasion, and in consequence of the high esteem in which hispartisans at Rome held his rare capacity, had succeeded in deposing hisGeneral, and in procuring his own elevation to that eminent post. Now,according to his calculation, aided by the millions he was about topossess, it would be but one step from that post to the pontificalthrone. A mute witness of this scene, Samuel smiled also with an air oftriumph, as he closed the casket by means of the spring known only tohimself. That metallic sound recalled Rodin from the heights of hismad ambition to the realities of life, and he said to Samuel in a sharpvoice: "You have heard? These millions must be delivered to me alone."

  He extended his hands eagerly and impatiently towards the casket, asif he would have taken possession of it, before the arrival of themagistrate. Then Samuel in his turn seemed transfigured, and, foldinghis arms upon his breast, and drawing up his aged form to its fullheight, he assumed a threatening and imposing air. His eyes flashed withindignation, and he said in a solemn tone: "This fortune--at first thehumble remains of the inheritance of the most noble of men, whom theplots of the sons of Loyola drove to suicide--this fortune, which hassince become royal in amount, thanks to the sacred probity of threegenerations of faithful servants--this fortune shall never b
e the rewardof falsehood, hypocrisy and murder. No! the eternal justice of heavenwill not allow it."

  "On murder? what do you mean, sir?" asked Rodin, boldly.

  Samuel made no answer. He stamped his foot, and extended his arm slowlytowards the extremity of the apartment. Then Rodin and Father Caboccinibeheld an awful spectacle. The draperies on the wall were drawn aside,as if by an invisible hand. Round a funeral vault, faintly illumined-bythe bluish light of a silver lamp, six dead bodies were rangedupon black biers, dressed in long black robes. They were: JacquesRennepont--Francois Hardy--Rose and Blanche Simon--Adrienne and Djalma.They appeared to be asleep. Their eyelids were closed, their handscrossed over their breasts. Father Caboccini, trembling in every limb,made the sign of the cross, and retreating to the opposite wall, buriedhis face in his hands. Rodin on the contrary, with agitated countenance,staring eyes, and hair standing on end, yielding to an invincibleattraction, advanced towards those inanimate forms. One would have saidthat these last of the Renneponts had only just expired. They seemed tobe in the first hour of the eternal sleep.(44)

  "Behold those whom thou host slain!" cried Samuel, in a voice brokenwith sobs. "Yea! your detestable plots caused their death--and, as theyfell one by one, it was my pious care to obtain possession of theirpoor remains, that they may all repose in the same sepulchre.Oh!--cursed--cursed--cursed--be thou who has killed them! But theirspoils shall escape thy murderous hands."

  Rodin, still drawn forward in spite of himself, had approached thefuneral couch of Djalma. Surmounting his first alarm, the Jesuit, toassure himself that he was not the sport of frightful dream, venturedto touch the hands of the Asiatic--and found that they were damp andpliant, though cold as ice.

  The Jesuit drew back in horror. For some seconds, he trembledconvulsively. But, his first amazement over, reflection returned, and,with reflection came that invincible energy, that infernal obstinacy ofcharacter, that gave him so much power. Steadying himself on his legs,drawing his hand across his brow, raising his head, moistening his lipstwo or three times before he spoke--for his throat and mouth grewever drier and hotter, without his being able to explain the cause--hesucceeded in giving to his features an imperious and ironicalexpression, and, turning towards Samuel, who wept in silence, he said tohim, in a hoarse, guttural voice: "I need not show you the certificatesof their death. There they are in person." And he pointed with his bonyhand to the six dead bodies.

  At these words of his General, Father Caboccini again made the sign ofthe cross, as if he had seen a fiend.

  "Oh, my God!" cried Samuel; "Thou hast quite abandoned this man. Withwhat a calm look he contemplates his victims!"

  "Come, sir!" said Rodin, with a horrid smile; "this is a natural waxworkexhibition, that is all. My calmness proves my innocence--and we hadbest come at once to business. I have an appointment at two o'clock. Solet us carry down this casket."

  He advanced towards the marble slab. Seized with indignation and horror,Samuel threw himself before him, and, pressing with all his might on aknob in the lid of the casket--a knob which yielded to the pressure--heexclaimed: "Since your infernal soul is incapable of remorse, it mayperhaps be shaken by disappointed avarice."

  "What does he say?" cried Rodin. "What is he doing?"

  "Look!" said Samuel, in his turn assuming an air of savage triumph. "Itold you, that the spoils of your victims should escape your murderoushands."

  Hardly had he uttered these words, before through the open-work of theiron casket rose a light cloud of smoke, and an odor as of burnt paperspread itself through the room. Rodin understood it instantly. "Fire!"he exclaimed, as he rushed forward to seize the casket. It had been madefast to the heavy marble slab.

  "Yes, fire," said Samuel. "In a few minutes, of that immense treasurethere will remain nothing but ashes. And better so, than that it shouldbelong to you or yours. This treasure is not mine, and it only remainsfor me to destroy it--since Gabriel de Rennepont will be faithful to theoath he has taken."

  "Help! water! water!" cried Rodin, as he covered the casket with hisbody, trying in vain to extinguish the flames, which, fanned by thecurrent of air, now issued from the thousand apertures in the lid; butsoon the intensity of the fire diminished, a few threads of bluish smokealone mounted upwards--and then, all was extinct.

  The work was done! Breathless and faint, Rodin leaned against the marbleslab. For the first time in his life, he wept; large tears of ragerolled down his cadaverous cheeks. But suddenly, dreadful pains, atfirst dull, but gradually augmenting in intensity, seized on him with somuch fury, though he employed all his energy to struggle against them,that he fell on his knees, and, pressing his two hands to his chest,murmured with an attempt to smile: "It is nothing. Do not be alarmed. Afew spasms--that is all. The treasure is destroyed--but I remain Generalof the Order. Oh! I suffer. What a furnace!" he added, writhing inagony. "Since I entered this cursed house, I know not what ails me.If--I had not lived on roots--water--bread--which I go myself to buy--Ishould think--I was poisoned--for I triumph--and Cardinal Malipieri haslong arms. Yes--I still triumph--for I will not die--this time no morethan the other--I will not die!"

  Then, as he stretched out his arms convulsively, he continued: "It isfire that devours my entrails. No doubt, they have tried to poison me.But when? but how?"

  After another pause, Rodin again cried out, in a stifled voice: "Help!help me, you that stand looking on--like, spectres!--Help me, I say!"

  Horror-struck at this dreadful agony, Samuel and Father Caboccini wereunable to stir.

  "Help!" repeated Rodin, in a tone of strangulation, "This poison ishorrible.--But how--" Then, with a terrific cry of rage, as if a suddenidea had struck him, he exclaimed: "Ha! Faringhea--this morning--theholy water--he knows such subtle poisons. Yes--it is he--he had aninterview with Malipieri. The demon!--Oh! it was well played. TheBorgias are still the same. Oh! it is all over. I die. They will regretme, the fools!--Oh! hell! hell! The Church knows not its loss--but Iburn--help!"

  They came to his assistance. Quick steps were heard upon the stairs, andDr. Baleinier, followed by the Princess de Saint-Dizier, appeared at theentrance of the Hall of Mourning. The princess had learned vaguely thatmorning the death of Father d'Aigrigny, and had come to question Rodinupon the subject. When this woman, entering the room, suddenly saw thefrightful spectacle that offered itself to her view--when she sawRodin writhing in horrible agony, and, further on, by the light of thesepulchral lamp, those six corpses--and, amongst them, her own niece,and the two orphans whom she had sent to meet their death--she stoodpetrified with horror, and her reason was unable to withstand the shock.She looked slowly round her, and then raised her arms on high, and burstinto a wild fit of laughter. She had gone mad. Whilst Dr. Baleiniersupported the head of Rodin, who expired in his arms, Faringhea appearedat the door; remaining in the shade, he cast a ferocious glance atthe corpse of the Jesuit. "He would have made himself the chief of theCompany of Jesus, to destroy it," said he; "with me, the Company ofJesus stands in the place of Bowanee. I have obeyed the cardinal!"

  (44) Should this appear incredible, we would remind the reader ofthe marvellous discoveries in the art of embalming--particularly Dr.Gannal's.

  EPILOGUE.