The Wandering Jew — Complete

by Eugène Sue

  "Sir," said Dagobert, in confusion, "I assure you that I sincerely repent of what I have done."

  "I know it, my good friend; do not say another word about it. You were then much attached to this cross?"

  "Attached to it, sir!" cried Dagobert. "Why, this cross," and he kissed it as he spoke, "is my relic. He from whom it came was my saint—my hero—and he had touched it with his hand!"

  "Oh!" said Rodin, feigning to regard the cross with as much curiosity as respectful admiration; "did Napoleon—the Great Napoleon—indeed touch with his own hand—that victorious hand!—this noble star of honor?"

  "Yes, sir, with his own hand. He placed it there upon my bleeding breast, as a cure for my fifth wound. So that, you see, were I dying of hunger, I think I should not hesitate betwixt bread and my cross—that I might, in any case, have it on my heart in death. But, enough—enough! let us talk of something else. It is foolish in an old soldier, is it not?" added Dagobert, drawing his hand across his eyes, and then, as if ashamed to deny what he really felt: "Well, then! yes," he resumed, raising his head proudly, and no longer seeking to conceal the tears that rolled down his cheek; "yes, I weep for joy, to have found my cross—my cross, that the Emperor gave me with his victorious hand, as this worthy man has called it."

  "Then blessed be my poor old hand for having restored you the glorious treasure!" said Rodin, with emotion. "In truth," he added, "the day will be a good one for everybody—as I announced to you this morning in my letter."

  "That letter without a signature?" asked the soldier, more and more astonished. "Was it from you?"

  "It was I who wrote it. Only, fearing some new snare of the Abbe d'Aigrigny, I did not choose, you understand, to explain myself more clearly."

  "Then—I shall see—my orphans?"

  Rodin nodded affirmatively, with an expression of great good-nature.

  "Presently—perhaps immediately," said Adrienne, with smile. "Well! was I right in telling you that you had not judged this gentleman fairly?"

  "Why did he not tell me this when I came in?" cried Dagobert, almost beside himself with joy.

  "There was one difficulty in the way, my good friend," said Rodin; "it was, that when you came in, you nearly throttled me."

  "True; I was too hasty. Once more, I ask your pardon. But was I to blame? I had only seen you with that Abbe d'Aigrigny, and in the first moment—"

  "This dear young lady," said Rodin, bowing to Adrienne, "will tell you that I have been, without knowing it, the accomplice IN many perfidious actions; but as soon as I began to see my way through the darkness, I quitted the evil course on which I had entered, and returned to that which is honest, just and true."

  Adrienne nodded affirmatively to Dagobert, who appeared to consult her look.

  "If I did not sign the letter that I wrote to you, my good friend, it was partly from fear that my name might inspire suspicion; and if I asked you to come hither, instead of to the convent, it was that I had some dread—like this dear young lady—lest you might be recognized by the porter or by the gardener, your affair of the other night rendering such a recognition somewhat dangerous."

  "But M. Baleinier knows all; I forgot that," said Adrienne, with uneasiness. "He threatened to denounce M. Dagobert and his son, if I made any complaint."

  "Do not be alarmed, my dear young lady; it will soon be for you to dictate conditions," replied Rodin. "Leave that to me; and as for you, my good friend, your torments are now finished."

  "Yes," said Adrienne, "an upright and worthy magistrate has gone to the convent, to fetch Marshal Simon's daughters. He will bring them hither; but he thought with me, that it would be most proper for them to take up their abode in my house. I cannot, however, come to this decision without your consent, for it is to you that these orphans were entrusted by their mother."

  "You wish to take her place with regard to them, madame?" replied Dagobert. "I can only thank you with all my heart, for myself and for the children. But, as the lesson has been a sharp one, I must beg to remain at the door of their chamber, night and day. If they go out with you, I must be allowed to follow them at a little distance, so as to keep them in view, just like Spoil-sport, who has proved himself a better guardian than myself. When the marshal is once here—it will be in a day or two—my post will be relieved. Heaven grant it may be soon!"

  "Yes," replied Rodin, in a firm voice, "heaven grant he may arrive soon, for he will have to demand a terrible reckoning of the Abbe d'Aigrigny, for the persecution of his daughters; and yet the marshal does not know all."

  "And don't you tremble for the renegade?" asked Dagobert, as he thought how the marquis would soon find himself face to face with the marshal.

  "I never care for cowards and traitors," answered Rodin; "and when Marshal Simon returns—" Then, after a pause of some seconds, he continued: "If he will do me the honor to hear me, he shall be edified as to the conduct of the Abbe d'Aigrigny. The marshal knows that his dearest friends, as well as himself, have been victims of the hatred of that dangerous man."

  "How so?" said Dagobert.

  "Why, yourself, for instance," replied Rodin; "you are an example of what I advance."

  "Do you think it was mere chance, that brought about the scene at the White Falcon Inn, near Leipsic?"

  "Who told you of that scene?" said Dagobert in astonishment.

  "Where you accepted the challenge of Morok," continued the Jesuit, without answering Dagobert's question, "and so fell into a trap, or else refused it, and were then arrested for want of papers, and thrown into prison as a vagabond, with these poor children. Now, do you know the object of this violence? It was to prevent your being here on the 13th of February."

  "But the more I hear, sir," said Adrienne, "the more I am alarmed at the audacity of the Abbe d'Aigrigny, and the extent of the means he has at his command. Really," she resumed, with increasing surprise, "if your words were not entitled to absolute belief—"

  "You would doubt their truth, madame?" said Dagobert. "It is like me. Bad as he is. I cannot think that this renegade had relations with a wild-beast showman as far off as Saxony; and then, how could he know that I and the children were to pass through Leipsic? It is impossible, my good man."

  "In fact, sir," resumed Adrienne, "I fear that you are deceived by your dislike (a very legitimate one) of Abbe d'Aigrigny, and that you ascribe to him an almost fabulous degree of power and extent of influence."

  After a moment's silence, during which Rodin looked first at Adrienne and then at Dagobert, with a kind of pity, he resumed. "How could the Abbe d'Aigrigny have your cross in his possession, if he had no connection with Morok?"

  "That is true, sir," said Dagobert; "joy prevented me from reflecting. But how indeed, did my cross come into your hands?"

  "By means of the Abbe d'Aigrigny's having precisely those relations with Leipsic, of which you and the young lady seem to doubt."

  "But how did my cross get to Paris?"

  "Tell me; you were arrested at Leipsic for want of papers—is it not so?"

  "Yes; but I could never understand how my passports and money disappeared from my knapsack. I thought I must have had the misfortune to lose them."

  Rodin shrugged his shoulders, and replied: "You were robbed of them at the White Falcon Inn, by Goliath, one of Morok's servants, and the latter sent the papers and the cross to the Abbe d'Aigrigny, to prove that he had succeeded in executing his orders with respect to the orphans and yourself. It was the day before yesterday, that I obtained the key of that dark machination. Cross and papers were amongst the stores of Abbe d'Aigrigny; the papers formed a considerable bundle, and he might have missed them; but, hoping to see you this morning, and knowing how a soldier of the Empire values his cross, his sacred relic, as you call it, my good friend—I did not hesitate. I put the relic into my pocket. 'After all,' said I, 'it is only restitution, and my delicacy perhaps exaggerates this breach of trust.'"

  "You could not have done a better action," said Adrienne; "
and, for my part, because of the interest I feel for M. Dagobert—I take it as a personal favor. But, sir," after a moment's silence, she resumed with anxiety: "What terrible power must be at the command of M. d'Aigrigny, for him to have such extensive and formidable relations in a foreign country!"

  "Silence!" said Rodin, in a low voice, and looking round him with an air of alarm. "Silence! In heaven's name do not ask me about it!"

  CHAPTER XXXVIII. REVELATIONS.

  Mdlle. de Cardoville, much astonished at the alarm displayed by Rodin, when she had asked him for some explanation of the formidable and far reaching power of the Abby d'Aigrigny, said to him: "Why, sir, what is there so strange in the question that I have just asked you?"

  After a moment's silence, Rodin cast his looks all around, with well feigned uneasiness, and replied in a whisper: "Once more, madame, do not question me on so fearful a subject. The walls of this house may have ears."

  Adrienne and Dagobert looked at each other with growing surprise. Mother Bunch, by an instinct of incredible force, continued to regard Rodin with invincible suspicion. Sometimes she stole a glance at him, as if trying to penetrate the mask of this man, who filled her with fear. At one moment, the Jesuit encountered her anxious gaze, obstinately fixed upon him; immediately he nodded to her with the greatest amenity. The young girl, alarmed at finding herself observed, turned away with a shudder.

  "No, no, my dear young lady," resumed Rodin, with a sigh, as he saw Mdlle. de Cardoville astonished at his silence; "do not question me on the subject of the Abbe d'Aigrigny's power!"

  "But, to persist, sir," said Adrienne; "why this hesitation to answer? What do you fear?"

  "Ah, my dear young lady," said Rodin, shuddering, "those people are so powerful! their animosity is so terrible!"

  "Be satisfied, sir; I owe you too much, for my support ever to fail you."

  "Ah, my dear young lady," cried Rodin, as if hurt by the supposition; "think better of me, I entreat you. Is it for myself that I fear?—No, no; I am too obscure, too inoffensive; but it is for you, for Marshal Simon, for the other members of your family, that all is to be feared. Oh, my dear young lady! let me beg you to ask no questions. There are secrets which are fatal to those who possess them."

  "But, sir, is it not better to know the perils with which one is threatened?"

  "When you know the manoeuvres of your enemy, you may at least defend yourself," said Dagobert. "I prefer an attack in broad daylight to an ambuscade."

  "And I assure you," resumed Adrienne, "the few words you have spoken cause me a vague uneasiness."

  "Well, if I must, my dear young lady," replied the Jesuit, appearing to make a great effort, "since you do not understand my hints, I will be more explicit; but remember," added he, in a deeply serious tone, "that you have persevered in forcing me to tell you what you had perhaps better not have known."

  "Speak, Sir, I pray you speak," said Adrienne.

  Drawing about him Adrienne, Dagobert, and Mother Bunch, Rodin said to them in a low voce, and with a mysterious air: "Have you never heard of a powerful association, which extends its net over all the earth, and counts its disciples, agents, and fanatics in every class of society which has had, and often has still, the ear of kings and nobles—which, in a word, can raise its creatures to the highest positions, and with a word can reduce them again to the nothingness from which it alone could uplift them?"

  "Good heaven, sir!" said Adrienne, "what formidable association? Until now I never heard of it."

  "I believe you; and yet your ignorance on this subject greatly astonishes me, my dear young lady."

  "And why should it astonish you?"

  "Because you lived some time with your aunt, and must have often seen the Abbe d'Aigrigny."

  "I lived at the princess's, but not with her; for a thousand reasons she had inspired me with warrantable aversion."

  "In truth, my dear young lady, my remark was ill-judged. It was there, above all, and particularly in your presence, that they would keep silence with regard to this association—and yet to it alone did the Princess de Saint-Dizier owe her formidable influence in the world, during the last reign. Well, then; know this—it is the aid of that association which renders the Abbe d'Aigrigny so dangerous a man.

  "By it he was enabled to follow and to reach divers members of your family, some in Siberia, some in India, others on the heights of the American mountains; but, as I have told you, it was only the day before yesterday, and by chance, that, examining the papers of Abbe d'Aigrigny, I found the trace of his connection with this Company, of which he is the most active and able chief."

  "But the name, sir, the name of this Company?" said Adrienne.

  "Well! it is—" but Rodin stopped short.

  "It is," repeated Adrienne, who was now as much interested as Dagobert and the sempstress; "it is—"

  Rodin looked round him, beckoned all the actors in this scene to draw nearer, and said in a whisper, laying great stress upon the words: "It is—the Society of Jesus!" and he again shuddered.

  "The Jesuits!" cried Mdlle. de Cardoville, unable to restrain a burst of laughter, which was the more buoyant, as, from the mysterious precautions of Rodin, she had expected some very different revelation. "The Jesuits!" she resumed, still laughing. "They have no existence, except in books; they are frightful historical personages, certainly; but why should you put forward Madame de Saint-Dizier and M. d'Aigrigny in that character? Such as they are, they have done quite enough to justify my aversion and disdain."

  After listening in silence to Mdlle. de Cardoville Rodin continued, with a grave and agitated air: "Your blindness frightens me, my dear, young lady; the past should have given you some anxiety for the future, since, more than any one, you have already suffered from the fatal influence of this Company, whose existence you regard as a dream!"

  "I, sir?" said Adrienne, with a smile, although a little surprised.

  "You."

  "Under what circumstances?"

  "You ask me this question! my dear young lady! you ask me this question!—and yet you have been confined here as a mad person! Is it not enough to tell you that the master of this house is one of the most devoted lay members of the Company, and therefore the blind instrument of the Abbe d'Aigrigny?"

  "So," said Adrienne, this time without smiling, "Dr. Baleinier"

  "Obeyed the Abbe d'Aigrigny, the most formidable chief of that formidable society. He employs his genius for evil; but I must confess he is a man of genius. Therefore, it is upon him that you and yours must fix all your doubts and suspicions; it is against him that you must be upon your guard. For, believe me, I know him, and he does not look upon the game as lost. You must be prepared for new attacks, doubtless of another kind, but only the more dangerous on that account—"

  "Luckily, you give us notice," said Dagobert, "and you will be on our side."

  "I can do very little, my good friends; but that little is at the service of honest people," said Rodin.

  "Now," said Adrienne, with a thoughtful air, completely persuaded by Rodin's air of conviction, "I can explain the inconceivable influence that my aunt exercised in the world. I ascribed it chiefly to her relations with persons in power; I thought that she, like the Abbe d'Aigrigny, was concerned in dark intrigues, for which religion served as a veil—but I was far from believing what you tell me."

  "How many things you have got to learn!" resumed Rodin. "If you knew, my dear young lady, with what art these people surround you, without your being aware of it, by agents devoted to themselves! Every one of your steps is known to them, when they have any interest in such knowledge. Thus, little by little, they act upon you—slowly, cautiously, darkly. They circumvent you by every possible means, from flattery to terror—seduce or frighten, in order at last to rule you, without your being conscious of their authority. Such is their object, and I must confess they pursue it with detestable ability."

  Rodin had spoken with so much sincerity, that Adrienne trembled; then, reproach
ing herself with these fears, she resumed: "And yet, no—I can never believe in so infernal a power; the might of priestly ambition belongs to another age. Heaven be praised, it has disappeared forever!"

  "Yes, certainly, it is out of sight; for they now know how to disperse and disappear, when circumstances require it. But then are they the most dangerous; for suspicion is laid asleep, and they keep watch in the dark. Oh! my dear young lady, if you knew their frightful ability! In my hatred of all that is oppressive, cowardly, and hypocritical, I had studied the history of that terrible society, before I knew that the Abbe d'Aigrigny belonged to it. Oh! it is dreadful. If you knew what means they employ! When I tell you that, thanks to their diabolical devices, the most pure and devoted appearances often conceal the most horrible snares." Rodin's eye rested, as if by chance, on the hunchback; but, seeing that Adrienne did not take the hint, the Jesuit continued: "In a word—are you not exposed to their pursuits?—have they any interest in gaining you over?—oh! from that moment, suspect all that surround you, suspect the most noble attachments, the most tender affections, for these monsters sometimes succeed in corrupting your best friends, and making a terrible use of them, in proportion to the blindness of your confidence."

  "Oh! it is impossible," cried Adrienne, in horror. "You must exaggerate. No! hell itself never dreamed of more frightful treachery!"

  "Alas, my dear young lady! one of your relations, M. Hardy—the most loyal and generous-hearted man that could be—has been the victim of some such infamous treachery. Do you know what we learned from the reading of your ancestor's will? Why, that he died the victim of the malevolence of these people; and now, at the lapse of a hundred and fifty years, his descendants are still exposed to the hate of that indestructible society."

  "Oh, sir! it terrifies me," said Adrienne, feeling her heart sink within her. "But are there no weapons against such attacks?"

  "Prudence, my dear young lady—the most watchful caution—the most incessant study and suspicion of all that approach you."

  "But such a life would be frightful! It is a torture to be the victim of continual suspicions, doubts, and fears."