THE LURE.
To understand fully the tortures of Rodin, reduced to inactivity by
sickness, and to explain the importance of Cardinal Malipieri's visit, we
must remember the audacious views of the ambitious Jesuit, who believed
himself following in the steps of Sixtus V., and expected to become his
equal. By the success of the Rennepont affair, to attain to the
generalship of his Order, by the corruption of the Sacred College to
ascend the pontifical throne, and then, by means of a change in the
statutes of the Company, to incorporate the Society of Jesus with the
Holy See, instead of leaving it independent, to equal and almost always
rule the Papacy--such were the secret projects of Rodin.
Their possibility was sanctioned by numerous precedents, for many mere
monks and priests had been suddenly raised to the pontifical dignity. And
as for their morality, the accession of the Borgias, of Julius II., and
other dubious Vicars of Christ, might excuse and authorize the
pretensions of the Jesuits.
Though the object of his secret intrigues at Rome had hitherto been
enveloped in the greatest mystery, suspicions had been excited in regard
to his private communications with many members of the Sacred College. A
portion of that college, Cardinal Malipieri at the head of them, had
become very uneasy on the subject, and, profiting by his journey to
France, the cardinal had resolved to penetrate the Jesuit's dark designs.
If, in the scene we have just painted, the cardinal showed himself so
obstinately bent on having a conference with Rodin, in spite of the
refusal of the latter, it was because the prelate hoped, as we shall soon
see, to get by cunning at the secret, which had hitherto been so well
concealed. It was, therefore, in the midst of all these extraordinary
circumstances, that Rodin saw himself the victim of a malady, which
paralyzed his strength, at the moment when he had need of all his
activity, and of all the resources of his mind. After remaining for some
seconds motionless near the door, the cardinal, still holding his bottle
under his nose, slowly approached the bed where Rodin lay.
The latter, enraged at this perseverance, and wishing to avoid an
interview which for many reasons was singularly odious to him, turned his
face towards the wall, and pretended to be asleep. Caring little for this
feint, and determined to profit by Rodin's state of weakness, the prelate
took a chair, and, conquering his repugnance, sat down close to the
Jesuit's bed.
"My reverend and very dear father, how do you find yourself?" said he to
him, in a honeyed tone, which his Italian accent seemed to render still
more hypocritical. Rodin pretended not to hear, breathed hard, and made
no answer. But the cardinal, not without disgust, shook with his gloved
hand the arm of the Jesuit, and repeated in a louder voice: "My reverend
and very dear father, answer me, I conjure you!"
Rodin could not restrain a movement of angry impatience, but he continued
silent. The cardinal was not a man to be discouraged by so little; he
again shook the arm of the Jesuit, somewhat more roughly, repeating, with
a passionless tenacity that would have incensed the most patient person
in the world: "My reverend and very dear father, since you are not
asleep, listen to me, I entreat of you."
Irritable with pain, exasperated by the obstinacy of the prelate, Rodin
abruptly turned his head, fixed on the Roman his hollow eyes, shining
with lurid fire, and, with lips contracted by a sardonic smile, said to
him, bitterly: "You must be very anxious, my lord, to see me embalmed,
and lie in state with tapers, as you were saying just now, for you thus
to come to torment me in my last moments, and hasten my end!"
"Oh, my good father! how can you talk so?" cried the cardinal, raising
his hands as if to call heaven to witness to the sincerity of the tender
interest he felt for the Jesuit.
"I tell you that I heard all just now, my lord; for the partition is
thin," added Rodin, with redoubled bitterness.
"If you mean that, from the bottom of my soul, I desired that you should
make an exemplary and Christian end, you are perfectly right, my dear
father. I did say so; for, after a life so well employed, it would be
sweet to see you an object of adoration for the faithful!"
"I tell you, my lord," cried Rodin, in a weak and broken voice, "that it
is ferocious to express such wishes in the presence of a dying man. Yes,"
he added, with growing animation, that contrasted strongly with his
weakness, "take care what you do; for if I am too much plagued and
pestered--if I am not allowed to breathe my last breath quietly--I give
you notice that you will force me to die in anything but a Christian
manner, and if you mean to profit by an edifying spectacle, you will be
deceived."
This burst of anger having greatly fatigued Rodin, his head fell back
upon the pillow, and he wiped his cracked and bleeding lips with his old
cotton handkerchief.
"Come, come, be calm, my very dear father," resumed the cardinal, with a
patronizing air; "do not give way to such gloomy ideas. Doubtless,
Providence reserves you for great designs, since you have been already
delivered from so much peril. Let us hope that you will be likewise saved
from your present danger."
Rodin answered by a hoarse growl, and turned his face towards the wall.
The imperturbable prelate continued: "The views of Providence are not
confined to your salvation, my very dear father. Its power has been
manifested in another way. What I am about to tell you is of the highest
importance. Listen attentively."
Without turning his head, Rodin muttered in a tone of angry bitterness,
which betrayed his intense sufferings: "They desire my death. My chest is
on fire, my head racked with pain, and they have no pity. Oh, I suffer
the tortures of the damned!"
"What! already" thought the Roman, with a smile of sarcastic malice; then
he said aloud: "Let me persuade you, my very dear father--make an effort
to listen to me; you will not regret it."
Still stretched upon the bed, Rodin lifted his hands clasped upon his
cotton handkerchief with a gesture of despair, and then let them fall
again by his side.
The cardinal slightly shrugged his shoulders, and laid great stress on
what follows, so that Rodin might not lose a word of it: "My dear father,
it has pleased Providence that, during your fit of raving, you have made,
without knowing it, the most important revelations."
The prelate waited with anxious curiosity for the effect of the pious
trap he had laid for the Jesuit's weakened faculties. But the latter,
still turned towards the wall, did not appear to have heard him and
remained silent.
"You are, no doubt, reflecting on my words, my dear father," resumed the
cardinal; "you are right, for it concerns a very serious affair. I repeat
to you that Providence has allowed you, during your delirium, to betray
your most secret thoughts--happily, to me alone. They are such as would
compromise you in the highest degree. In short, during your delirium of
last night, which lasted nearly two hours, you unveiled the secret
objects of your intrigues at Rome with many of the members of the Sacred
College."
The cardinal, rising softly, stooped over the bed to watch the expression
of Rodin's countenance. But the latter did not give him time. As a
galvanized corpse starts into strange and sudden motion, Rodin sprang
into a sitting posture at the last words of the prelate.
"He has betrayed himself," said the cardinal, in a low voice, in Italian.
Then, resuming his seat, he fixed on the Jesuit his eyes, that sparkled
with triumphant joy.
Though he did not hear the exclamation of Malipieri, nor remark the
expression of his countenance, Rodin, notwithstanding his state of
weakness, instantly felt the imprudence of his start. He pressed his hand
to his forehead, as though he had been seized with a giddiness; then,
looking wildly round him, he pressed to his trembling lips his old cotton
handkerchief, and gnawed it mechanically for some seconds.
"Your emotion and alarm confirm the sad discoveries I have made," resumed
the cardinal, still more rejoicing at the success of his trick; "and now,
my dear father," added he, "you will understand that it is for your best
interest to enter into the most minute detail as to your projects and
accomplices at Rome. You may then hope, my dear father, for the
indulgence of the Holy See--that is, if your avowals are sufficiently
explicit to fill up the chasms necessarily left in a confession made
during delirium."
Rodin, recovered from his first surprise, perceived, but too late, that
he had fallen into a snare, not by any words he had spoken, but by his
too significant movements. In fact, the Jesuit had feared for a moment
that he might have betrayed himself during his delirium, when he heard
himself accused of dark intrigues with Rome; but, after some minutes of
reflection, his common sense suggested: "If this crafty Roman knew my
secret, he would take care not to tell me so. He has only suspicions,
confirmed by my involuntary start just now."
Rodin wiped the cold sweat from his burning forehead. The emotion of this
scene augmented his sufferings, and aggravated the danger of his
condition. Worn out with fatigue, he could not remain long in a sitting
posture, and soon fell back upon the bed.
"Per Bacco!" said the cardinal to himself, alarmed at the expression of
the Jesuit's face; "if he were to die before he had spoken, and so escape
the snare!"
Then, leaning over the bed, the prelate asked: "What is the matter, my
very dear father?"
"I am weak, my lord--I am in pain--I cannot express what I suffer."
"Let us hope, my very dear father, that this crisis will have no fatal
results; but the contrary may happen, and it behooves the salvation of
your soul to make instantly the fullest confession. Were it even to
exhaust your strength, what is this perishable body compared to eternal
life?"
"Of what confession do you speak, my lord?" said Rodin, in a feeble and
yet sarcastic tone.
"What confession!" cried the amazed cardinal; "why, with regard to your
dangerous intrigues at Rome."
"What intrigues?" asked Rodin.
"The intrigues you revealed during your delirium," replied the prelate,
with still more angry impatience. "Were not your avowals sufficiently
explicit? Why, then, this culpable hesitation to complete them?"
"My avowals--were explicit--you assure me?" said Rodin, pausing after
each word for want of breath, but without losing his energy and presence
of mind.
"Yes, I repeat it," resumed the cardinal; "with the exception of a few
chasms, they were most explicit."
"Then why repeat them?" said Rodin, with the same sardonic smile on his
violet lips.
"Why repeat them?" cried the angry prelate. "In order to gain pardon; for
if there is indulgence and mercy for the repentant sinner, there must be
condemnation and curses for the hardened criminal!"
"Oh, what torture! I am dying by slow fire!" murmured Rodin. "Since I
have told all," he resumed, "I have nothing more to tell. You know it
already."
"I know all--doubtless, I know all," replied the prelate, in a voice of
thunder; "but how have I learned it? By confessions made in a state of
unconsciousness. Do you think they will avail you anything? No; the
moment is solemn--death is at hand, tremble to die with a sacrilegious
falsehood on your lips," cried the prelate, shaking Rodin violently by
the arm; "dread the eternal flames, if you dare deny what you know to be
the truth. Do you deny it?"
"I deny nothing," murmured Rodin, with difficulty. "Only leave me alone!"
"Then heaven inspires you," said the cardinal, with a sigh of
satisfaction; and, thinking he had nearly attained his object, he
resumed, "Listen to the divine word, that will guide you, father. You
deny nothing?"
"I was--delirious--and cannot--(oh! how I suffer!)" added Rodin, by way
of parenthesis; "and cannot therefore--deny--the nonsense--I may have
uttered!"
"But when this nonsense agrees with the truth," cried the prelate,
furious at being again deceived in his expectation; "but when raving is
an involuntary, providential revelation--"
"Cardinal Malipieri--your craft is no match--for my agony," answered
Rodin, in a failing voice. "The proof--that I have not told my secret--if
I have a secret--is--that you want to make me tell it!" In spite of his
pain and weakness, the Jesuit had courage to raise himself in the bed,
and look the cardinal full in the face, with a smile of bitter irony.
After which he fell back on the pillow, and pressed his hands to his
chest, with a long sigh of anguish.
"Damnation! the infernal Jesuit has found me out!" said the cardinal to
himself, as he stamped his foot with rage. "He sees that he was
compromised by his first movement; he is now upon his guard; I shall get
nothing more from him--unless indeed, profiting by the state of weakness
in which he is, I can, by entreaties, by threats, by terror--"
The prelate was unable to finish. The door opened abruptly, and Father
d'Aigrigny entered the room, exclaiming with an explosion of joy:
"Excellent news!"