CHAPTER XIX. THE HEIR
Samuel opened the door to Gabriel and Rodin.
The latter said to the Jew, "You, sir, are the keeper of this house?"
"Yes, sir," replied Samuel.
"This is Abbe Gabriel de Rennepont," said Rodin, as he introduced hiscompanion, "one of the descendants of the family of the Renneponts."
"Happy to hear it, sir," said the Jew, almost involuntarily, struck withthe angelic countenance of Gabriel--for nobleness and serenity of soulwere visible in the glance of the young priest, and were written uponhis pure, white brow, already crowned with the halo of martyrdom. Samuellooked at Gabriel with curiosity and benevolent interest; but feelingthat this silent contemplation must cause some embarrassment to hisguest, he said to him, "M. Abbe, the notary will not be here before teno'clock."
Gabriel looked at him in turn, with an air of surprise, and answered,"What notary, sir?"
"Father d'Aigrigny will explain all this to you," said Rodin, hastily.Then addressing Samuel, he added, "We are a little before the time. Willyou allow us to wait for the arrival of the notary?"
"Certainly," said Samuel, "if you please to walk into my house."
"I thank you, sir," answered Rodin, "and accept your offer."
"Follow me, then, gentlemen," said the old man.
A few moments after, the young priest and the socius, preceded bySamuel, entered one of the rooms occupied by the latter, on theground-floor of the building, looking out upon the court-yard.
"The Abbe d'Aigrigny, who has been the guardian of M. Gabriel, will soonbe coming to ask for us," added Rodin; "will you have the kindness, sirto show him into this room?"
"I will not fail to do so, sir," said Samuel, as he went out.
The socius and Gabriel were left alone. To the adorable gentleness whichusually gave to the fine features of the missionary so touching a charm,there had succeeded in this moment a remarkable expression of sadness,resolution, and severity. Rodin not having seen Gabriel for some days,was greatly struck by the change he remarked in him. He had watched himsilently all the way from the Rue des Postes to the Rue Saint-Francois.The young priest wore, as usual, a long black cassock, which made stillmore visible the transparent paleness of his countenance. When the Jewhad left the room, Gabriel said to Rodin, in a firm voice, "Will you atlength inform me, sir, why, for some days past, I have been preventedfrom speaking to his reverence Father d'Aigrigny? Why has he chosen thishouse to grant me an interview?"
"It is impossible for me to answer these questions," replied Rodin,coldly. "His reverence will soon arrive, and will listen to you. All Ican tell you is, that the reverend father lays as much stress upon thismeeting as you do. If he has chosen this house for the interview, it isbecause you have an interest to be here. You know it well--though youaffected astonishment on hearing the guardian speak of a notary."
So saying, Rodin fixed a scrutinizing, anxious look upon Gabriel, whosecountenance expressed only surprise.
"I do not understand you," said he, in reply to Rodin. "What have I todo with this house?"
"It is impossible that you should not know it," answered Rodin, stilllooking at him with attention.
"I have told you, sir, that I do not know it," replied the other, almostoffended by the pertinacity of the socius.
"What, then, did your adopted mother come to tell you yesterday? Why didyou presume to receive her without permission from Father d'Aigrigny, asI have heard this morning? Did she not speak with you of certain familypapers, found upon you when she took you in?"
"No, sir," said Gabriel; "those papers were delivered at the time tomy adopted mother's confessor, and they afterwards passed into Fatherd'Aigrigny's hands. This is the first I hear for a long time of thesepapers."
"So you affirm that Frances Baudoin did not come to speak to you onthis subject?" resumed Rodin, obstinately, laying great emphasis on hiswords.
"This is the second time, sir, that you seem to doubt my affirmation,"said the young priest, mildly, while he repressed a movement ofimpatience, "I assure you that I speak the truth."
"He knows nothing," thought Rodin; for he was too well convinced ofGabriel's sincerity to retain the least doubt after so positive adeclaration. "I believe you," went on he. "The idea only occurred to mein reflecting what could be the reason of sufficient weight to induceyou to transgress Father d'Aigrigny's orders with regard to the absoluteretirement he had commanded, which was to exclude all communication withthose without. Much more, contrary to all the rules of our house, youventured to shut the door of your room, whereas it ought to remain halfopen, that the mutual inspection enjoined us might be the more easilypracticed. I could only explain these sins against discipline, by thenecessity of some very important conversation with your adopted mother."
"It was to a priest, and not to her adopted son, that Madame Baudoinwished to speak," replied Gabriel, in a tone of deep seriousness. "Iclosed my door because I was to hear a confession."
"And what had Frances Baudoin of such importance to confess?"
"You will know that by-and-bye, when I speak to his reverence--if it behis pleasure that you should hear me."
These words were so firmly spoken, that a long silence ensued. Let usremind the reader that Gabriel had hitherto been kept by his superiorsin the most complete ignorance of the importance of the family interestswhich required his presence in the Rue Saint-Francois. The day before,Frances Baudoin, absorbed in her own grief, had forgotten to tell himthat the two orphans also should be present at this meeting, and had sheeven thought of it, Dagobert would have prevented her mentioning thiscircumstance to the young priest.
Gabriel was therefore quite ignorant of the family ties which united himwith the daughters of Marshal Simon, with Mdlle. de Cardoville, with M.Hardy, Prince Djalma, and Sleepinbuff. In a word, if it had then beenrevealed to him that he was the heir of Marius de Rennepont, he wouldhave believed himself the only descendant of the family. During themoment's silence which succeeded his conversation with Rodin, Gabrielobserved through the windows the mason's at their work of unwalling thedoor. Having finished this first operation, they set about removing thebars of iron by which a plate of lead was fixed over the same entrance.
At this juncture, Father d'Aigrigny, conducted by Samuel, entered theroom. Before Gabriel could turn around, Rodin had time to whisper to thereverend father, "He knows nothing--and we have no longer anything tofear from the Indian."
Notwithstanding his affected calmness, Father d'Aigrigny's countenancewas pale and contracted, like that of a player who is about to stake allon a last, decisive game. Hitherto, all had favored the designs of theSociety; but he could not think without alarm of the four hours whichstill remained before they should reach the fatal moment. Gabriel havingturned towards him, Father d'Aigrigny offered him his hand with a smile,and said to him in an affectionate and cordial tone, "My dear son, ithas pained me a good deal to have been obliged to refuse you till nowthe interview that you so much desired. It has been no less distressingto me to impose on you a confinement of some days. Though I cannot giveany explanation of what I may think fit to order, I will just observe toyou that I have acted only for your interest."
"I am bound to believe your reverence," answered Gabriel, bowing hishead.
In spite of himself, the young priest felt a vague sense of fear, foruntil his departure for his American mission, Father d'Aigrigny,at whose feet he had pronounced the formidable vows which bound himirrevocably to the Society of Jesus, had exercised over him thatfrightful species of influence which, acting only by despotism,suppression, and intimidation, breaks down all the living forces ofthe soul, and leaves it inert, trembling, and terrified. Impressions ofearly youth are indelible, and this was the first time, since hisreturn from America, that Gabriel found himself in presence of Fatherd'Aigrigny; and although he did not shrink from the resolution he hadtaken, he regretted not to have been able, as he had hoped, to gathernew strength and courage from an interview with Agricola and Dagobert.F
ather d'Aigrigny knew mankind too well not to have remarked the emotionof the young priest, and to have endeavored to explain its cause. Thisemotion appeared to him a favorable omen; he redoubled, therefore, hisseductive arts, his air of tenderness and amenity, reserving to himself,if necessary, the choice of assuming another mask. He sat down, whileGabriel and Rodin remained standing in a respectful position, and saidto the former: "You desire, my dear son, to have an important interviewwith me?"
"Yes, father," said Gabriel, involuntarily casting down his eyes beforethe large, glittering gray pupil of his superior.
"And I also have matters of great importance to communicate to you.Listen to me first; you can speak afterwards."
"I listen, father."
"It is about twelve years ago, my dear son," said Father d'Aigrigny,affectionately, "that the confessor of your adopted mother, addressinghimself to me through M. Rodin, called my attention to yourself, byreporting the astonishing progress you had made at the school of theBrothers. I soon found, indeed, that your excellent conduct, yourgentle, modest character, and your precocious intelligence, were worthyof the most tender interest. From that moment I kept my eyes uponyou, and at the end of some time, seeing that you did not fall off, itappeared to me that there was something more in you than the stuff thatmakes a workman. We agreed with your adopted mother, and through myintervention, you were admitted gratuitously to one of the schools ofour Company. Thus one burden the less weighed upon the excellent womanwho had taken charge of you, and you received from our paternal care allthe benefits of a religious education. Is not this true, my dear son?"
"It is true, father," answered Gabriel, casting down his eyes.
"As you grew up, excellent and rare virtues displayed themselves in yourcharacter. Your obedience and mildness were above all exemplary. Youmade rapid progress in your studies. I knew not then to what career youwished to devote yourself, but I felt certain that, in every station oflife, you would remain a faithful son of the Church. I was not deceivedin my hopes, or rather, my dear son, you surpassed them all. Learning,by a friendly communication, that your adopted mother ardently desiredto see you take orders, you acceded generously and religiously to thewish of the excellent woman to whom you owed so much. But as the Lord isalways just in His recompenses, He willed that the most touching work ofgratitude you could show to your adopted mother, should at the same timebe divinely profitable by making you one of the militant members of ourholy Church."
At these words, Gabriel could not repress a significant start, as heremembered Frances' sad confidences. But he restrained himself, whilstRodin stood leaning with his elbow on the corner of the chimney-piece,continuing to examine him with singular and obstinate attention.
Father d'Aigrigny resumed: "I do not conceal from you, my dear son,that your resolution filled me with joy. I saw in you one of the futurelights of the Church, and I was anxious to see it shine in the midstof our Company. You submitted courageously to our painful and difficulttests; you were judged worthy of belonging to us, and, after taking inmy presence the irrevocable and sacred oath, which binds you for ever toour Company for the greater glory of God, you answered the appeal of ourHoly Father(14) to willing souls, and offered yourself as a missionary,to preach to savages the one Catholic faith. Though it was painful to usto part with our dear son, we could not refuse to accede to suchpious wishes. You set out a humble missionary you return a gloriousmartyr--and we are justly proud to reckon you amongst our number. Thisrapid sketch of the past was necessary, my dear son to arrive at whatfollows, for we wish now, if it be possible, to draw still closer thebonds that unite us. Listen to me, my dear son; what I am about to sayis confidential and of the highest importance, not only for you, but thewhole Company."
"Then, father," cried Gabriel hastily, interrupting the Abbe d'Aigrigny,"I cannot--I ought not to hear you."
The young priest became deadly pale; one saw, by the alteration ofhis features, that a violent struggle was taking place within him, butrecovering his first resolution, he raised his head, and casting anassured look on Father d'Aigrigny and Rodin, who glanced at each otherin mute surprise, he resumed: "I repeat to you, father, that if itconcerns confidential matters of the Company, I must not hear you."
"Really, my dear son, you occasion me the greatest astonishment. Whatis the matter?--Your countenance changes, your emotion is visible. Speakwithout fear; why can you not hear me?"
"I cannot tell you, father, until I also have, in my turn, rapidlysketched the past--such as I have learned to judge it of late. Youwill then understand, father, that I am no longer entitled to yourconfidence, for an abyss will doubtlessly soon separate us."
At these words, it is impossible to paint the look rapidly exchangedbetween Rodin and Father d'Aigrigny. The socius began to bite his nails,fixing his reptile eye angrily upon Gabriel; Father d'Aigrigny grewlivid, and his brow was bathed in cold sweat. He asked himself withterror, if, at the moment of reaching the goal, the obstacle was goingto come from Gabriel, in favor of whom all other obstacles had beenremoved. This thought filled him with despair. Yet the reverendfather contained himself admirably, remained calm, and answered withaffectionate unction: "It is impossible to believe, my dear son, thatyou and I can ever be separated by an abyss--unless by the abyss ofgrief, which would be caused by any serious danger to your salvation.But speak; I listen to you."
"It is true, that, twelve years ago, father," proceeded Gabriel, in afirm voice, growing more animated as he proceeded, "I entered, throughyour intervention, a college of the Company of Jesus. I entered itloving, truthful, confiding. How did they encourage those preciousinstincts of childhood? I will tell you. The day of my entrance, theSuperior said to me, as he pointed out two children a little older thanmyself: 'These are the companions that you will prefer. You will alwayswalk three together. The rules of the house forbid all intercoursebetween two persons only. They also require, that you should listenattentively to what your companions say, so that you may report it tome; for these dear children may have, without knowing it, bad thoughtsor evil projects. Now, if you love your comrades, you must inform me ofthese evil tendencies, that my paternal remonstrances may save them frompunishment; it is better to prevent evil than to punish it.'"
"Such are, indeed, my dear son," said Father d'Aigrigny, "the rulesof our house, and the language we hold to all our pupils on theirentrance."
"I know it, father," answered Gabriel, bitterly; "three days after,a poor, submissive, and credulous child, I was already a spy upon mycomrades, hearing and remembering their conversation, and reporting itto the superior, who congratulated me on my zeal. What they thus mademe do was shameful, and yet, God knows! I thought I was accomplishing acharitable duty. I was happy in obeying the commands of a superior whomI respected, and to whose words I listened, in my childish faith, as Ishould have listened to those of Heaven. One day, that I had broken somerule of the house, the superior said to me: 'My child, you have deserveda severe punishment; but you will be pardoned, if you succeed insurprising one of your comrades in the same fault that you havecommitted.' And for that, notwithstanding my faith and blind obedience,this encouragement to turn informer, from the motive of personalinterest, might appear odious to me, the superior added. 'I speak toyou, my child, for the sake of your comrade's salvation. Were heto escape punishment, his evil habits would become habitual. But bydetecting him in a fault, and exposing him to salutary correction, youwill have the double advantage of aiding in his salvation, and escapingyourself a merited punishment, which will have been remitted because ofyour zeal for your neighbor--"
"Doubtless," answered Father d'Aigrigny, more and more terrified byGabriel's language; "and in truth, my dear son, all this is conformableto the rule followed in our colleges, and to the habits of the membersof our Company, 'who may denounce each other without prejudice to mutuallove and charity, and only for their greater spiritual advancement,particularly when questioned by their superior, or commanded for thegreater glory of God,' as our Constitution
has it."
"I know it," cried Gabriel; "I know it. 'Tis in the name of all that ismost sacred amongst men, that we are encouraged to do evil."
"My dear son," said Father d'Aigrigny, trying to conceal his secret andgrowing terror beneath an appearance of wounded dignity, "from you to methese words are at least strange."
At this, Rodin quitted the mantelpiece, on which he had been leaning,begin to walk up and down the room, with a meditative air, and withoutceasing to bite his nails.
"It is cruel to be obliged to remind you, my dear son, that your areindebted to us for the education you have received," added Fatherd'Aigrigny.
"Such were its fruits, father," replied Gabriel. "Until then I had beena spy on the other children, from a sort of disinterestedness; but theorders of the superior made me advance another step on that shamefulroad. I had become an informer, to escape a merited punishment. And yet,such was my faith, my humility, my confidence, that I performed withinnocence and candor this doubly odious part. Once, indeed, tormented byvague scruples, the last remains of generous aspirations that they werestifling within me, I asked myself if the charitable and religious endcould justify the means, and I communicated my doubts to the superior.He replied, that I had not to judge, but to obey, and that to him alonebelonged the responsibility of my acts."
"Go on, my dear son," said Father d'Aigrigny, gelding, in spite ofhimself, to the deepest dejection. "Alas! I was right in opposing yourtravel to America."
"And yet it was the will of Providence, in that new, productive, andfree country, that, enlightened by a singular chance, on past andpresent, my eyes were at length opened. Yes!" cried Gabriel, "it was inAmerica that, released from the gloomy abode where I had spent so manyyears of my youth, and finding myself for the first time face to facewith the divine majesty of Nature, in the heart of immense solitudesthrough which I journeyed--it was there that, overcome by so muchmagnificence and grandeur, I made a vow--" Here Gabriel interruptedhimself, to continue: "Presently, father, I will explain to you thatvow; but believe me," added the missionary, with an accent of deepsorrow, "it was a fatal day to me when I first learned to fear andcondemn all that I had hitherto most revered and blessed. Oh! I assureyou father," added Gabriel, with moist eyes, "it was not for myselfalone, that I then wept."
"I know the goodness of your heart, my dear son," replied Fatherd'Aigrigny, catching a glimpse of hope, on seeing Gabriel's emotion; "Ifear that you have been led astray. But trust yourself to us, as toyour spiritual fathers, and I doubt not we shall confirm your faith,so unfortunately shaken, and disperse the darkness which at presentobscures your sight. Alas, my dear son, in your vain illusions, you havemistaken some false glimmer for the pure light of day. But go on."
Whilst Father d'Aigrigny was thus speaking, Rodin stopped, took a pocketbook from his coat, and wrote down several notes. Gabriel was becomingmore and more pale and agitated. It required no small courage in him,to speak as he was speaking, for, since his journey to America, hehad learned to estimate the formidable power of the Company. But thisrevelation of the past, looked at from the vantage-ground of a moreenlightened present, was for the young priest the excuse, or rather thecause of the determination he had just signified to his superior, andhe wished to explain all faithfully, notwithstanding the danger heknowingly encountered. He continued therefore, in an agitated voice:
"You know, father, that the last days of my childhood, that happy ageof frankness and innocent joy, were spent in an atmosphere of terror,suspicion, and restraint. Alas! how could I resign myself to the leastimpulse of confiding trust, when I was recommended to shun the looks ofhim who spoke with me, in order to hide the impression that his wordsmight cause--to conceal whatever I felt, and to observe and listen toeverything? Thus I reached the age of fifteen; by degrees, the rarevisits that I was allowed to pay, but always in presence of one of ourfathers, to my adopted mother and brother, were quite suppressed, so asto shut my heart against all soft and tender emotions. Sad and fearfulin that large, old noiseless, gloomy house, I felt that I became moreand more isolated from the affections and the freedom of the world.My time was divided between mutilated studies, without connection andwithout object, and long hours of minute devotional exercises. I askyou, father, did they ever seek to warm our young souls by words oftenderness or evangelic love? Alas, no! For the words of the divineSaviour--Love ye one another, they had substituted the command: Suspectye one another. Did they ever, father, speak to us of our country or ofliberty?--No! ah, no! for those words make the heart beat high; and withthem, the heart must not beat at all. To our long hours of study anddevotion, there only succeeded a few walks, three by three--never twoand two--because by threes, the spy-system is more practicable, andbecause intimacies are more easily formed by two alone; and thus mighthave arisen some of those generous friendships, which also make theheart beat more than it should.15 And so, by the habitual repression ofevery feeling, there came a time when I could not feel at all. For sixmonths, I had not seen my adopted mother and brother; they came to visitme at the college; a few years before, I should have received them withtransports and tears; this time my eyes were dry, my heart was cold. Mymother and brother quitted me weeping. The sight of this grief struck meand I became conscious of the icy insensibility which had been creepingupon me since I inhabited this tomb. Frightened at myself, I wished toleave it, while I had still strength to do so. Then, father, I spoke toyou of the choice of a profession; for sometimes, in waking moments,I seemed to catch from afar the sound of an active and useful life,laborious and free, surrounded by family affections. Oh! then I felt thewant of movement and liberty, of noble and warm emotions--of that lifeof the soul, which fled before me. I told it you, father on myknees, bathing your hands with my tears. The life of a workman or asoldier--anything would have suited me. It was then you informed me,that my adopted mother, to whom I owed my life--for she had taken me in,dying of want, and, poor herself, had shared with me the scanty breadof her child--admirable sacrifice for a mother!--that she," continuedGabriel, hesitating and casting down his eyes, for noble natures blushfor the guilt of others, and are ashamed of the infamies of which theyare themselves victims, "that she, that my adopted mother, had but onewish, one desire--"
"That of seeing you takes orders, my dear son," replied Fatherd'Aigrigny; "for this pious and perfect creature hoped, that, insecuring your salvation, she would provide for her own: but she did notventure to inform you of this thought, for fear you might ascribe it toan interested motive."
"Enough, father!" said Gabriel, interrupting the Abbe d'Aigrigny, witha movement of involuntary indignation; "it is painful for me to hear youassert an error. Frances Baudoin never had such a thought."
"My dear son, you are too hasty in your judgments," replied Fatherd'Aigrigny, mildly. "I tell you, that such was the one, sole thought ofyour adopted mother."
"Yesterday, father, she told me all. She and I were equally deceived."
"Then, my dear son," said Father d'Aigrigny, sternly, "you take the wordof your adopted mother before mine?"
"Spare me an answer painful for both of us, father," said Gabriel,casting down his eyes.
"Will you now tell me," resumed Father d'Aigrigny, with anxiety, "whatyou mean to--"
The reverend father was unable to finish. Samuel entered the room, andsaid: "A rather old man wishes to speak to M. Rodin."
"That is my name, sir," answered the socius, in surprise; "I am muchobliged to you." But, before following the Jew, he gave to Fatherd'Aigrigny a few words written with a pencil upon one of the leaves ofhis packet-book.
Rodin went out in very uneasy mood, to learn who could have come to seekhim in the Rue Saint-Francois. Father d'Aigrigny and Gabriel were leftalone together.
(14) It is only in respect to Missions that the Jesuits acknowledge thepapal supremacy.
(15) This rule is so strict in Jesuit Colleges, that if one of threepupils leaves the other two, they separate out of earshot till the firstcomes back.