AN UNEXPECTED VISIT.
Though Rodin had experienced much surprise on reading the second letter
from Rome, he did not choose that his answer should betray any such
amazement. Having finished his frugal breakfast, he took a sheet of
paper, and rapidly wrote in cipher the following note, in the short,
abrupt style that was natural to him when not obliged to restrain
himself:
"The information does not surprise me. I had foreseen it all. Indecision
and cowardice always bear such fruit. This is not enough. Heretical
Russia murders Catholic Poland. Rome blesses the murderers, and curses
the victims.[23]
"Let it pass.
"In return, Russia guarantees to Rome, by Austria, the bloody suppression
of the patriots of Romagna.
"That, too, is well.
"The cut-throat band of good Cardinal Albani is not sufficient for the
massacre of the impious liberals. They are weary of the task.
"Not so well. They must go on."
When Rodin had written these last words, his attention was suddenly
attracted by the clear and sonorous voice of Rose-Pompon, who, knowing
her Beranger by heart, had opened Philemon's window, and, seated on the
sill, sang with much grace and prettiness this verse of the immortal
song-writer:
"How wrong you are! Is't you dare say
That heaven ever scowls on earth?
The earth that laughs up to its blue,
The earth that owes it joy and birth?
Oh, may the wine from vines it warms,
May holy love thence fluttering down,
Lend my philosophy their charms,
To drive away care's direful frown!
So, firm let's stand,
Full glass in hand,
And all evoke
The God of honest folk!"
This song, in its divine gentleness, contrasted so strangely with the
cold cruelty of the few lines written by Rodin, that he started and bit
his lips with rage, as he recognized the words of the great poet, truly
Christian, who had dealt such rude blows to the false Church. Rodin
waited for some moments with angry impatience, thinking the voice would
continue; but Rose-Pompon was silent, or only continued to hum, and soon
changed to another air, that of the Good Pope, which she entoned, but
without words. Rodin, not venturing to look out of his window to see who
was this troublesome warbler, shrugged his shoulders, resumed his pen,
and continued:
"To it again. We must exasperate the independent spirits in all
countries--excite philosophic rage all over Europe make liberalism foam
at the mouth--raise all that is wild and noisy against Rome. To effect
this, we must proclaim in the face of the world these three propositions.
1. It is abominable to assert that a man may be saved in any faith
whatever, provided his morals be pure. 2. It is odious and absurd to
grant liberty of conscience to the people. 3. The liberty of the press
cannot be held in too much horror.24
"We must bring the Pap-fed man to declare these propositions in every
respect orthodox--show him their good effect upon despotic
governments--upon true Catholics, the muzzlers of the people. He will
fall into the snare. The propositions once published, the storm will
burst forth. A general rising against Rome--a wide schism--the sacred
college divided into three parties. One approves--the other blames--the
third trembles. The Sick Man, still more frightened than he is now at
having allowed the destruction of Poland, will shrink from the clamors,
reproaches, threats, and violent ruptures that he has occasioned.
"That is well--and goes far.
"Then, set the Pope to shaking the conscience of the Sick Man, to disturb
his mind, and terrify his soul.
"To sum up. Make everything bitter to him--divide his council--isolate
him--frighten him--redouble the ferocious ardor of good Albini--revive
the appetite of the Sanfedists[25]--give them a gulf of liberals--let there
be pillage, rape, massacre, as at Cesena--a downright river of Carbonaro
blood--the Sick Man will have a surfeit of it. So many butcheries in his
name--he will shrink, be sure he will shrink--every day will have its
remorse, every night its terror, every minute its anguish; and the
abdication he already threatens will come at last--perhaps too soon. That
is now the only danger; you must provide against it.
"In case of an abdication, the grand penitentiary has understood me.
Instead of confiding to a general the direction of our Order, the best
militia of the Holy See, I should command it myself. Thenceforward this
militia would give me no uneasiness. For instance: the Janissaries and
the Praetorian Guards were always fatal to authority--why?--because they
were able to organize themselves as defenders of the government,
independently of the government; hence their power of intimidation.
"Clement XIV. was a fool. To brand and abolish our Company was an absurd
fault. To protect and make it harmless, by declaring himself the General
of the Order, is what he should have done. The Company, then at his
mercy, would have consented to anything. He would have absorbed us, made
us vassals of the Holy See, and would no longer have had to fear our
services. Clement XIV. died of the cholic. Let him heed who hears. In a
similar case, I should not die the same death."
Just then, the clear and liquid voice of Rose-Pompon was again heard.
Rodin bounded with rage upon his seat; but soon, as he listened to the
following verse, new to him (for, unlike Philemon's widow, he had not his
Beranger at his fingers' ends), the Jesuit, accessible to certain odd,
superstitious notions, was confused and almost frightened at so singular
a coincidence. It is Beranger's Good Pope who speaks--
"What are monarchs? sheepish sots!
Or they're robbers, puffed with pride,
Wearing badges of crime blots,
Till their certain graves gape wide.
If they'll pour out coin for me,
I'll absolve them--skin and bone!
If they haggle--they shall see,
My nieces dancing on their throne!
So laugh away!
Leap, my fay!
Only watch one hurt the thunder
First of all by Zeus under,
I'm the Pope, the whole world's wonder!"
Rodin, half-risen from his chair, with outstretched neck and attentive
eye, was still listening, when Rose-Pompon, flitting like a bee from
flower to flower of her repertoire, had already begun the delightful air
of Colibri. Hearing no more, the Jesuit reseated himself, in a sort of
stupor; but, after some minutes' reflection, his countenance again
brightened up, and he seemed to see a lucky omen in this singular
incident. He resumed his pen, and the first words he wrote partook, as it
were, of this strange confidence in fate.
"I have never had more hope of success than at this moment. Another
reason to neglect nothing. Every presentiment demands redoubled zeal. A
new thought occurred to me yesterday.
"We shall act here in concert. I have founded an ultra-Catholic paper
called Neighborly Love. From its ultramontane, tyrannical, liberticidal
fury, it will be thought the organ of Rome. I will confirm these reports.
They will cause new terrors.
"That will be well.
"I shall raise the question of the liberty of instruction. The raw
liberals will support us. Like fools, they admit us to equal rights; when
our privileges, our influence of the confessional, our obedience to Rome,
all place us beyond the circle of equal rights, by the advantages which
we enjoy. Double fools! they think us disarmed, because they have
disarmed themselves towards us.
"A burning question--irritating clamors--new cause of disgust for the
Weak Man. Every little makes a mickle.
"That also is very well.
"To sum up all in two words. The end is abdication--the means, vexation,
incessant torture. The Rennepont inheritance wilt pay for the election.
The price agreed, the merchandise will be sold."
Rodin here paused abruptly, thinking he had heard some noise at that door
of his, which opened on the staircase; therefore he listened with
suspended breath; but all remaining silent, he thought he must have been
deceived, and took up his pen:
"I will take care of the Rennepont business--the hinge on which will turn
our temporal operations. We must begin from the foundation--substitute
the play of interests, and the springs of passion, for the stupid club
law of Father d'Aigrigny. He nearly compromised everything--and yet he
has good parts, knows the world, has powers of seduction, quick
insight--but plays ever in a single key, and is not great enough to make
himself little. In his stead, I shall know how to make use of him. There
is good stuff in the man. I availed myself in time of the full powers
given by the R. F. G.; I may inform Father d'Aigrigny, in case of need,
of the secret engagements taken by the General towards myself. Until now,
I have let him invent for this inheritance the destination that you know
of. A good thought, but unseasonable. The same end, by other means.
"The information was false. There are over two hundred millions. Should
the eventuality occur, what was doubtful must become certain. An immense
latitude is left us. The Rennepont business is now doubly mine, and
within three months, the two hundred millions will be ours, by the free
will of the heirs themselves. It must be so; for this failing, the
temporal part would escape me, and my chances be diminished by one half.
I have asked for full powers; time presses, and I act as if I had them.
One piece of information is indispensable for the success of my projects.
I expect it from you, and I must have it; do you understand me? The
powerful influence of your brother at the Court of Vienna will serve you
in this. I wish to have the most precise details as to the present
position of the Duke de Reichstadt--the Napoleon II. of the Imperialists.
Is it possible, by means of your brother, to open a secret correspondence
with the prince, unknown to his attendants?
"Look to this promptly. It is urgent. This note will be sent off to day.
I shall complete it to-morrow. It will reach you, as usual, by the hands
of the petty shopkeeper."
At the moment when Rodin was sealing this letter within a double
envelope, he thought that he again heard a noise at the door. He
listened. After some silence, several knocks were distinctly audible.
Rodin started. It was the first time any one had knocked at his door,
since nearly a twelve-month that he occupied this room. Hastily placing
the letter in his great-coat pocket, the Jesuit opened the old trunk
under his bed, took from it a packet of papers wrapped in a tattered
cotton handkerchief, added to them the two letters in cipher he had just
received, and carefully relocked the trunk. The knocking continued
without, and seemed to show more and more impatience. Rodin took the
greengrocer's basket in his hand, tucked his umbrella under his arm, and
went with some uneasiness to ascertain who was this unexpected visitor.
He opened the door, and found himself face to face with Rose-Pompon, the
troublesome singer, and who now, with a light and pretty courtesy, said
to him in the most guileless manner in the world, "M. Rodin, if you
please?"
[23] On page 110 of Lamennais' Affaires de Rome, will be seen the following
admirable scathing of Rome by the most truly evangelical spirit of our
age: "So long as the issue of the conflict between Poland and her
oppressors remained in the balances, the papal official organ contained
not one word to offend the so long victorious nation; but hardly had she
gone down under the Czar's atrocious vengeance, and the long torture of a
whole land doomed to rack, and exile, and servitude began, than this same
journal found no language black enough to stain those whom fortune had
fled. Yet it is wrong to charge this unworthy insult to papal power; it
only cringes to the law which Russia lays down to it, when it says:
"'If you want to keep your own bones unbroken, bide where you are, beside
the scaffold, and, as the victims pass, hoot at them!'"
[24] See Pope Gregory XVI.'s Encyclical Letter to the Bishops in France,
1832.
[25] Hardly had the Sixteenth Gregory ascended the pontifical throne, than
news came of the rising in Bologna. His first idea was to call the
Austrians, and incite the Sanfedist volunteer bands of fanatics. Cardinal
Albini defeated the liberals at Cesena, where his followers pillaged
churches, sacked the town, and ill-treated women. At Forli, cold-blooded
murders were committed. In 1832 the Sanfedists (Holy Faithites) openly
paraded their medals, bearing the heads of the Duke of Modena and the
Pope; letters issued by the apostolic confederation; privileges and
indulgences. They took the following oath: "I. A. B., vow to rear the
throne and altar over the bones of infamous freedom shriekers, and
exterminate these latter without pity for children's cries and women's
tears." The disorders perpetrated by these marauders went beyond all
bounds; the Romish Court regularized anarchy and organized the Sanfedists
into volunteer corps, to which fresh privileges were granted. [Revue deux
Mondes, Nov. 15th, 1844.--"La Revolution en Italie."]