THE TORTURE.
"Reverend fathers," said Dr. Baleinier, graciously, to the three, "I
thank you for your kind aid. What you have to do is very simple, and, by
the blessing of heaven, this operation will save the life of our dear
Father Rodin."
The three black-gowns cast up their eyes piously, and then bowed
altogether, like one man. Rodin, indifferent to what was passing around
him, never ceased an instant to write or reflect. Nevertheless, in spite
of his apparent calmness, he felt such difficulty in breathing, that more
than once Dr. Baleinier had turned round uneasily, as he heard the
stifled rattling in the throat of the sick man. Making a sign to his
pupil, the doctor approached Rodin and said to him: "Come, reverend
father; this is the important moment. Courage!"
No sign of alarm was expressed in the Jesuit's countenance. His features
remained impassible as those of a corpse. Only, his little reptile eyes
sparkled still more brightly in their dark cavities. For a moment, he
looked round at the spectators of this scene; then, taking his pen
between his teeth, he folded and wafered another letter, placed it on the
table beside the bed, and nodded to Dr. Baleinier, as if to say: "I am
ready."
"You must take off your flannel waistcoat, and your shirt, father." Rodin
hesitated an instant, and the doctor resumed: "It is absolutely
necessary, father."
Aided by Baleinier, Rodin obeyed, whilst the doctor added, no doubt to
spare his modesty: "We shall only require the chest, right and left, my
dear father."
And now, Rodin, stretched upon his back, with his dirty night-cap still
on his head, exposed the upper part of a livid trunk, or rather, the bony
cage of a skeleton, for the shadows of the ribs and cartilages encircled
the skin with deep, black lines. As for the arms, they resembled bones
twisted with cord and covered with tanned parchment.
"Come, M. Rousselet, the apparatus!" said Baleinier.
Then addressing the three Jesuits, he added: "Please draw near,
gentlemen; what you have to do is very simple, as you will see."
It was indeed very simple. The doctor gave to each of his four assistants
a sort of little steel tripod about two inches in diameter and three in
height; the circular centre of this tripod was filled with cotton; the
instrument was held in the left hand by means of a wooden handle. In the
right hand each assistant held a small tin tube about eighteen inches
long; at one end was a mouthpiece to receive the lips of the operator,
and the other spread out so as to form a cover to the little tripod.
These preparations had nothing alarming in them. Father d'Aigrigny and
the prelate, who looked on from a little distance, could not understand
how this operation should be so painful. They soon understood it.
Dr. Baleinier, having thus provided his four assistants, made them
approach Rodin, whose bed had been rolled into the middle of the room.
Two of them were placed on one side, two on the other.
"Now, gentlemen," said Dr. Baleinier, "set light to the cotton; place the
lighted part on the skin of his reverence, by means of the tripod which
contains the wick; cover the tripod with the broad part of the tube, and
then blow through the other end to keep up the fire. It is very simple,
as you see."
It was, in fact, full of the most patriarchal and primitive ingenuity.
Four lighted cotton rocks, so disposed as to burn very slowly, were
applied to the two sides of Rodin's chest. This is vulgarly called the
moxa. The trick is done, when the whole thickness of the skin has been
burnt slowly through. It lasts seven or eight minutes. They say that an
amputation is nothing to it. Rodin had watched the preparations with
intrepid curiosity. But, at the first touch of the four fires, he writhed
like a serpent, without being able to utter a cry. Even the expression of
pain was denied him. The four assistants being disturbed by, the sudden
start of Rodin, it was necessary to begin again.
"Courage, my dear father! offer these sufferings to the Lord!" said Dr.
Baleinier, in a sanctified tone. "I told you the operation would be very
painful; but then it is salutary in proportion. Come; you that have shown
such decisive resolution, do not fail at the last movement!"
Rodin had closed his eyes, conquered by the first agony of pain. He now
opened them, and looked at the doctor as if ashamed of such weakness. And
yet on the sides of his chest were four large, bleeding wounds--so
violent had been the first singe. As he again extended himself on the bed
of torture, Rodin made a sign that he wished to write. The doctor gave
him the pen, and he wrote as follows, by way of memorandum; "It is better
not to lose any time. Inform Baron Tripeaud of the warrant issued against
Leonard, so that he may be on his guard."
Having written this note, the Jesuit gave it to Dr. Baleinier, to hand it
to Father d'Aigrigny, who was as much amazed as the doctor and the
cardinal, at such extraordinary presence of mind in the midst of such
horrible pain. Rodin, with his eyes fixed on the reverend father, seemed
to wait with impatience for him to leave the room to execute his orders.
Guessing the thought of Rodin, the doctor whispered Father d'Aigrigny,
who went out.
"Come, reverend father," said the doctor, "we must begin again. This time
do not move."
Rodin did not answer, but clasped his hands over his head, closed his
eyes, and presented his chest. It was a strange, lugubrious, almost
fantastic spectacle. The three priests, in their long black gowns, leaned
over this body, which almost resembled a corpse, and blowing through
their tubes into the chest of the patient, seemed as if pumping up his
blood by some magic charm. A sickening odor of burnt flesh began to
spread through the silent chamber, and each assistant heard a slight
crackling beneath the smoking trivet; it was the skin of Rodin giving way
to the action of fire, and splitting open in four different parts of his
chest. The sweat poured from his livid face, which it made to shine; a
few locks of his gray hair stood up stiff and moist from his temples.
Sometimes the spasms were so violent, that the veins swelled on his
stiffened arms, and were stretched like cords ready to break.
Enduring this frightful torture with as much intrepid resignation as the
savage whose glory consists in despising pain, Rodin gathered his
strength and courage from the hope--we had almost said the certainty--of
life. Such was the make of this dauntless character, such the energy of
this powerful mind, that, in the midst of indescribable torments, his one
fixed idea never left him. During the rare intervals of suffering--for
pain is equal even at this degree of intensity--Rodin still thought of
the Rennepont inheritance, and calculated his chances, and combined his
measures, feeling that he had not a minute to lose. Dr. Baleinier watched
him with extreme attention, waiting for the effects of the reaction of
pain upon the patient, who seemed already to breathe with less
difficulty.
Suddenly Rodin placed his hand on his forehead, as if struck with some
new idea, and turning his head towards Dr. Baleinier, made a sign to him
to suspend the operation.
"I must tell you, reverend father," answered the doctor, "that it is not
half finished, and, if we leave off, the renewal will be more painful--"
Rodin made a sign that he did not care, and that he wanted to write.
"Gentlemen, stop a moment," said Dr. Baleinier; "keep down your moxas,
but do not blow the fire."
So the fire was to burn slowly, instead of fiercely, but still upon the
skin of the patient. In spite of this pain, less intense, but still sharp
and keen, Rodin, stretched upon his back, began to write, holding the
paper above his head. On the first sheet he traced some alphabetic signs,
part of a cipher known to himself alone. In the midst of the torture, a
luminous idea had crossed his mind; fearful of forgetting it amidst his
sufferings, he now took note of it. On another paper he wrote the
following, which was instantly delivered to Father d'Aigrigny: "Send B.
immediately to Faringhea, for the report of the last few days with regard
to Djalma, and let B. bring it hither on the instant." Father d'Aigrigny
went out to execute this new order. The cardinal approached a little
nearer to the scene of the operation, for, in spite of the bad odor of
the room, he took delight in seeing the Jesuit half roasted, having long
cherished against him the rancor of an Italian and a priest.
"Come, reverend father," said the doctor to Rodin, "continue to be
admirably courageous, and your chest will free itself. You have still a
bitter moment to go through--and then I have good hope."
The patient resumed his former position. The moment Father d'Aigrigny
returned, Rodin questioned him with a look, to which the reverend father
replied by a nod. At a sign from the doctor, the four assistants began to
blow through the tubes with all their might. This increase of torture was
so horrible, that, in spite of his self-control, Rodin gnashed his teeth,
started convulsively, and so expanded his palpitating chest, that, after
a violent spasm, there rose from his throat and lungs a scream of
terrific pain--but it was free, loud, sonorous.
"The chest is free!" cried the doctor, in triumph. "The lungs have
play--the voice returns--he is saved!--Blow, gentlemen, blow; and,
reverend father, cry out as much as you please: I shall be delighted to
hear you, for it will give you relief. Courage! I answer for the result.
It is a wonderful cure. I will publish it by sound of trumpet."
"Allow me, doctor," whispered Father d'Aigrigny, as he approached Dr.
Baleinier; "the cardinal can witness, that I claimed beforehand the
publication of this affair--as a miraculous fact."
"Let it be miraculous then," answered Dr. Baleinier, disappointed--for he
set some value on his own work.
On hearing he was saved, Rodin though his sufferings were perhaps worse
than ever, for the fire had now pierced the scarf-skin, assumed almost an
infernal beauty. Through the painful contraction of his features shone
the pride of savage triumph; the monster felt that he was becoming once
more strong and powerful, and he seemed conscious the evils that his
fatal resurrection was to cause. And so, of still writhing beneath the
flames, he pronounced these words, the first that struggled from his
chest: "I told you I should live!"
"You told us true," cried the doctor, feeling his pulse; "the circulation
is now full and regular, the lungs are free. The reaction is complete.
You are saved."
At this moment, the last shreds of cotton had burnt out. The trivets were
withdrawn, and on the skeleton trunk of Rodin were seen four large round
blisters. The skin still smoked, and the raw flesh was visible beneath.
In one of his sudden movements, a lamp had been misplaced, and one of
these burns was larger than the other, presenting as it were to the eye a
double circle. Rodin looked down upon his wounds. After some seconds of
silent contemplation, a strange smile curled his lips. Without changing
his position, he glanced at Father d'Aigrigny with an expression
impossible to describe, and said to him, as he slowly counted the wounds
touching them with his flat and dirty nail: "Father d'Aigrigny, what an
omen!--Look here! one Rennepont--two Renneponts--three Renneponts--four
Renneponts--where is then the fifth!--Ah! here--this wound will count for
two. They are twins."[41] And he emitted a little dry, bitter laugh. Father
d'Aigrigny, the cardinal, and Dr. Baleinier, alone understood the sense
of these mysterious and fatal words, which Rodin soon completed by a
terrible allusion, as he exclaimed, with prophetic voice, and almost
inspired air: "Yes, I say it. The impious race will be reduced to ashes,
like the fragments of this poor flesh. I say it, and it will be so. I
said I would live--and I do live!"
[41] Jacques Rennepont being dead, and Gabriel out of the field, in
consequence of his donation, there remained only five persons of the
family--Rose and Blanche, Djalma, Adrienne, and Hardy.