SYMPATHY.
If it had been possible for Mdlle. de Cardoville to harbor any suspicion
of the sincerity of Rodin's devotion, it must have given way before this
reasoning, unfortunately so simple and undeniable. How could she suppose
the faintest complicity between the Abbe d'Aigrigny and his secretary,
when it was the latter who completely unveiled the machinations of his
master, and exposed them to the tribunals? when in this, Rodin went even
further than Mdlle. de Cardoville would herself have gone? Of what secret
design could she suspect the Jesuit? At worst, of a desire to earn by his
services the profitable patronage of the young lady.
And then, had he not just now protested against this supposition, by
declaring his devotion, not to Mdlle. de Cardoville--not to the fair,
rich, noble lady--but to the high-souled and generous girl? Finally, as
Rodin had said himself, could any but a miserable wretch fail to be
interested in Adrienne's fate? A strange mixture of curiosity, surprise,
and interest, was joined with Mdlle. de Cardoville's feelings of
gratitude towards Rodin. Yet, as she recognized the superior mind under
that humble exterior, she was suddenly struck with a grave suspicion.
"Sir," said she to Rodin, "I always confess to the persons I esteem the
doubts they may have inspired, so that they may justify themselves, and
excuse me, if I am wrong."
Rodin looked at Mdlle. de Cardoville with surprise, as if mentally
calculating the suspicions than she might entertain, and replied, after a
moment's silence: "You are perhaps thinking of my journey to Cardoville,
of my base proposals to your good and worthy bailiff? Oh! if you--"
"No, no, sir," said Adrienne, interrupting him; "you made that confession
spontaneously, and I quite understand, that, blinded with regard to M.
d'Aigrigny, you passively executed instructions repugnant to your
delicacy. But how comes it, that, with your incontestable merits, you
have so long; occupied so mean a position in his service?"
"It is true," said Rodin, with a smile; "that must impress you
unfavorably, my dear young lady; for a man of any capacity, who remains
long in an inferior condition, has evidently some radical vice, some bad
or base passion--"
"It is generally true, sir."
"And personally true--with regard to myself."
"What, sir! do you make this avowal?"
"Alas! I confess that I have a bad passion, to which, for forty years, I
have sacrificed all chances of attaining to a better position."
"And this passion, sir?"
"Since I must make the unpleasant avowal, this passion is indolence--yes,
indolence--the horror of all activity of mind, of all moral
responsibility, of taking the lead in anything. With the twelve hundred
francs that Abbe d'Aigrigny gave me, I was the happiest man in the world;
I trusted to the nobleness of his views; his thoughts became mine, his
wishes mine. My work once finished, I returned to my poor little chamber,
I lighted my fire, I dined on vegetables--then, taking up some book of
philosophy, little known, and dreaming over it, I gave free course to my
imagination, which, restrained all the day long, carried me through
numberless theories to a delicious Utopia. Then, from the eminences of my
intelligence, lifted up Lord knows whither, by the audacity of my
thoughts, I seemed to look down upon my master, and upon the great men of
the earth. This fever lasted for three or four hours, after which I had a
good sleep; and, the next morning, I went lightly to my work, secure of
my daily bread, without cares for the future, living content with little,
waiting with impatience for the delights of my solitary evening, and
saying to myself as I went on writing like a stupid machine: 'And
yet--and yet--if I chose!'--"
"Doubtless, you could, like others, surer than others, have reached a
higher position," said Adrienne, greatly struck with Rodin's practical
philosophy.
"Yes, I think I could have done so; but for what purpose?--You see, my
dear young lady, what often renders people of some merit puzzles to the
vulgar, is that they are frequently content to say: 'If I chose!'"
"But, sir, without attaching much importance to the luxuries of life,
there is a certain degree of comfort, which age renders almost
indispensable, and which you seem to have utterly renounced."
"Undeceive yourself, if you please, my dear young lady," said Rodin, with
a playful smile. "I am a true Sybarite; I require absolutely warm
clothes, a good stove, a soft mattress, a good piece of bread, a fresh
radish, flavored with good cheap salt, and some good, clear water; and,
notwithstanding this complication of wants, my twelve hundred francs have
always more than sufficed, for I have been able to make some little
savings."
"But now that you are without employment, how will you manage to live,
sir?" said Adrienne, more and more interested by the singularities of
this man, and wishing to put his disinterestedness to the proof.
"I have laid by a little, which will serve me till I have unravelled the
last thread of Father d'Aigrigny's dark designs. I owe myself this
reparation, for having been his dupe; three or four days, I hope, will
complete the work. After that, I have the certainty of meeting with a
situation, in my native province, under a collector of taxes: some time
ago, the offer was made me by a friend; but then I would not leave Father
d'Aigrigny, notwithstanding the advantages proposed. Fancy, my dear young
lady--eight hundred francs, with board and lodging! As I am a little of
the roughest, I should have preferred lodging apart; but, as they give me
so much, I must submit to this little inconvenience."
Nothing could exceed Rodin's ingenuity, in making these little household
confidences (so abominably false) to Mdlle. de Cardoville, who felt her
last suspicions give way.
"What, sir?" said she to the Jesuit, with interest; "in three or four
days, you mean to quit Paris?"
"I hope to do so, my dear young lady; and that," added he, in a
mysterious tone, "and that for many reasons. But what would be very
precious to me," he resumed, in a serious voice, as he looked at Adrienne
with emotion, "would be to carry with me the conviction, that you did me
the justice to believe, that, on merely reading your interview with the
Princess de Saint-Dizier, I recognized at once qualities quite unexampled
in our day, in a young person of your age and condition."
"Ah, sir!" said Adrienne, with a smile, "do not think yourself obliged to
return so soon the sincere praises that I bestowed on your superiority of
mind. I should be better pleased with ingratitude."
"Oh, no! I do not flatter you, my dear young lady. Why should I? We may
probably never meet again. I do not flatter you; I understand you--that's
all--and what will seem strange to you, is, that your appearance
complete, the idea which I had already formed of you, my dear young lady,
in reading your interview with your aunt: and some parts of your
character, hitherto obscure to me, are now fully displayed."
"Really, sir, you astonish me more and more."
"I can't help it! I merely describe my impressions. I can now explain
perfectly, for example, your passionate love of the beautiful, your eager
worship of the refinements of the senses, your ardent aspirations for a
better state of things, your courageous contempt of many degrading and
servile customs, to which woman is condemned; yes, now I understand the
noble pride with which you contemplate the mob of vain, self-sufficient,
ridiculous men, who look upon woman as a creature destined for their
service, according to the laws made after their own not very handsome
image. In the eyes of these hedge-tyrants, woman, a kind of inferior
being to whom a council of cardinals deigned to grant a soul by a
majority of two voices, ought to think herself supremely happy in being
the servant of these petty pachas, old at thirty, worn-out, used up,
weary with excesses, wishing only for repose, and seeking, as they say,
to make an end of it, which they set about by marrying some poor girl,
who is on her side desirous to make a beginning."
Mdlle. de Cardoville would certainly have smiled at these satirical
remarks, if she had not been greatly struck by hearing Rodin express in
such appropriate terms her own ideas, though it was the first time in her
life that she saw this dangerous man. Adrienne forgot, or rather, she was
not aware, that she had to deal with a Jesuit of rare intelligence,
uniting the information and the mysterious resources of the police-spy
with the profound sagacity of the confessor; one of those diabolic
priests, who, by the help of a few hints, avowals, letters, reconstruct a
character, as Cuvier could reconstruct a body from zoological fragments.
Far from interrupting Rodin, Adrienne listened to him with growing
curiosity. Sure of the effect he produced, he continued, in a tone of
indignation: "And your aunt and the Abbe d'Aigrigny treated you as mad,
because you revolted against the yoke of such tyrants! because, hating
the shameful vices of slavery, you chose to be independent with the
suitable qualities of independence, free with the proud virtues of
liberty!"
"But, sir," said Adrienne, more and more surprised, "how can my thoughts
be so familiar to you?"
"First, I know you perfectly, thanks to your interview with the Princess
de Saint-Dizier: and next, if it should happen that we both pursue the
same end, though by different means," resumed Rodin, artfully, as he
looked at Mdlle. de Cardoville with an air of intelligence, "why should
not our convictions be the same?"
"I do not understand you, sir. Of what end do you speak?"
"The end pursued incessantly by all lofty, generous, independent
spirits--some acting, like you, my dear young lady, from passion, from
instinct, without perhaps explaining to themselves the high mission they
are called on to ful, fil. Thus, for example, when you take pleasure in
the most refined delights, when you surround yourself with all that
charms the senses, do you think that you only yield to the attractions of
the beautiful, to the desire of exquisite enjoyments? No! ah, no! for
then you would be incomplete, odiously selfish, a dry egotist, with a
fine taste--nothing more--and at your age, it would be hideous, my dear
young lady, it would be hideous!"
"And do you really think thus severely of me?" said Adrienne, with
uneasiness, so much influence had this man irresistibly attained over
her.
"Certainly, I should think thus of you, if you loved luxury for luxury's
sake; but, no--quite another sentiment animates you," resumed the Jesuit.
"Let us reason a little. Feeling a passionate desire for all these
enjoyments, you know their value and their need more than any one--is it
not so?"
"It is so," replied Adrienne, deeply interested.
"Your gratitude and favor are then necessarily acquired by those who,
poor, laborious, and unknown, have procured for you these marvels of
luxury, which you could not do without?"
"This feeling of gratitude is so strong in me, sir," replied Adrienne,
more and more pleased to find herself so well understood, "that I once
had inscribed on a masterpiece of goldsmith's work, instead of the name
of the seller, that of the poor unknown artist who designed it, and who
has since risen to his true place."
"There you see, I was not deceived," went on Rodin; "the taste for
enjoyment renders you grateful to those who procure it for you; and that
is not all; here am I, an example, neither better nor worse than my
neighbors, but accustomed to privations, which cause me no suffering--so
that the privations of others necessarily touch me less nearly than they
do you, my dear young lady; for your habits of comfort must needs render
you more compassionate towards misfortune. You would yourself suffer too
much from poverty, not to pity and succor those who are its victims."
"Really, sir," said Adrienne, who began to feel herself under the fatal
charm of Rodin, "the more I listen to you, the more I am convinced that
you would defend a thousand times better than I could those ideas for
which I was so harshly reproached by Madame de Saint-Dizier and Abbe
d'Aigrigny. Oh! speak, speak, sir! I cannot tell you with what happiness,
with what pride I listen."
Attentive and moved, her eyes fixed on the Jesuit with as much interest
as sympathy and curiosity, Adrienne, by a graceful toss of the head that
was habitual to her, threw hack her long, golden curls, the better to
contemplate Rodin, who thus resumed: "You are astonished, my dear young
lady, that you were not understood by your aunt or by Abbe d'Aigrigny!
What point of contact had you with these hypocritical, jealous, crafty
minds, such as I can judge them to be now? Do you wish a new proof of
their hateful blindness? Among what they called your monstrous follies,
which was the worst, the most damnable? Why, your resolution to live
alone and in your own way, to dispose freely of the present and the
future. They declared this to be odious, detestable, immoral. And
yet--was this resolution dictated by a mad love of liberty? no!--by a
disordered aversion to all restraint? no!--by the desire of
singularity?--no!--for then I, too, should have blamed you severely."
"Other reasons have indeed guided me, sir, I assure you," said Adrienne
eagerly, for she had become very eager for the esteem with which her
character might inspire Rodin.
"Oh! I know it well; your motives could only be excellent ones," replied
the Jesuit. "Why then did you take this resolution, so much called in
question? Was it to brave established etiquette? no! for you respected
them until the hate of Mme. de Saint-Dizier forced you to withdraw
yourself from her unbearable guardianship. Was it to live alone, to
escape the eyes of the world? no! you would be a hundred times more open
to observation in this than any other condition. Was it to make a bad use
of your liberty? no, ah, no! those who design evil seek for darkness and
solitude; while you place yourself right before the jealous anal envious
eyes of the vulgar crowd. Why then do you take this determination, so
courageous and rare, unexampled in a young person of your age? Shall I
tell you, my dear young lady? It is, that you wish to prove, by your
example, that a woman of pure heart and honest mind, with a firm
character and independence of soul, may nobly and proudly throw off the
humiliating guardianship that custom has imposed upon her. Yes, instead
of accepting the fate of a revolted slave, a life only destined to
hypocrisy or vice, you wish to live freely in presence of all the world,
independent, honorable, and respected. You wish to have, like man, the
exercise of your own free will, the entire responsibility of all your
actions, so as to establish the fact, that a woman left completely to
herself, may equal man in reason, wisdom, uprightness, and surpass him
indelicacy and dignity. That is your design, my dear young lady. It is
noble and great. Will your example be imitated? I hope it may; but
whether it be so or not, your generous attempt, believe me, will place
you in a high and worthy position."
Mdlle. de Cardoville's eyes shone with a proud and gentle brightness, her
cheeks were slightly colored, her bosom heaved, she raised her charming
head with a movement of involuntary pride; at length completely under the
charm of that diabolical man she exclaimed: "But, sir, who are you that
can thus know and analyze my most secret thoughts, and read my soul more
clearly than myself, so as to give new life and action to those ideas of
independence which have long stirred within me? Who are you, that can
thus elevate me in my own eyes, for now I am conscious of accomplishing a
mission, honorable to myself, and perhaps useful to my sisters immersed
in slavery? Once again, sir, who are you?"
"Who am I, madame?" answered Rodin, with a smile of the greatest good
nature; "I have already told you that I am a poor old man, who for the
last forty years, having served in the day time as a writing machine to
record the ideas of others, went home every evening to work out ideas of
his own--a good kind of man who, from his garret, watches and even takes
some little share in the movement of generous spirits, advancing towards
an end that is nearer than is commonly thought. And thus, my dear young
lady, as I told you just now, you and I are both tending towards the same
objects, though you may do the same without reflection, and merely in
obedience to your rare and divine instincts. So continue so to live,
fair, free, and happy!--it is your mission--more providential than you
may think it. Yes; continue to surround yourself with all the marvels of
luxury and art; refine your senses, purify your tastes, by the exquisite
choice of your enjoyments; by genius, grace, and purity raise yourself
above the stupid and ill-favored mob of men, that will instantly surround
you, when they behold you alone and free; they will consider you an easy
prey, destined to please their cupidity, their egotism, their folly.
"Laugh at them, and mock these idiotic and sordid pretensions. Be the
queen of your own world, and make yourself respected as a queen.
Love--shine--enjoy--it is your part upon earth. All the flowers, with
which you are whelmed in profusion, will one day bear fruit. You think
that you have lived only for pleasure; in reality, you will have lived
for the noblest aims that could tempt a great and lofty soul. And
so--some years hence--we may meet again, perhaps; you, fairer and more
followed than ever; I, older and more obscure. But, no matter--a secret
voice, I am sure, says to you at this moment, that between us two,
however different, there exists an invisible bond, a mysterious
communion, which nothing hereafter will ever be able to destroy!"
He uttered these final words in a tone of such profound emotion, that
Adrienne started. Rodin had approached without her perceiving it, and
without, as it were, walking at all, for he dragged his steps along the
floor, with a sort of serpent motion; and he had spoken with so much
warmth and enthusiasm, that his pale face had become slightly tinged, and
his repulsive ugliness had almost disappeared before the brilliancy of
his small sharp eyes, now wide open, and fixed full upon Adrienne. The
latter leaned forward, with half-open lips and deep-drawn breath, nor
could she take her eyes from the Jesuit's; he had ceased to speak, and
yet she was still listening. The feelings of the fair young lady, in
presence of this little old man, dirty, ugly, and poor, were
inexplicable. That comparison so common, and yet so true, of the
frightful fascination of the bird by the serpent, might give some idea of
the singular impression made upon her. Rodin's tactics were skillful and
sure. Until now, Mdlle. de Cardoville had never analyzed her tastes or
instincts. She had followed them, because they were inoffensive and
charming. How happy and proud she then was sure to be to hear a man of
superior mind not only praise these tendencies, for which she had been
heretofore so severely blamed, but congratulate her upon them, as upon
something great, noble, and divine! If Rodin had only addressed himself
to Adrienne's self-conceit, he would have failed in his perfidious
designs, for she had not the least spark of vanity. But he addressed
himself to all that was enthusiastic and generous in her heart; that
which he appeared to encourage and admire in her was really worthy of
encouragement and admiration. How could she fail to be the dupe of such
language, concealing though it did such dark and fatal projects?
Struck with the Jesuit's rare intelligence, feeling her curiosity greatly
excited by some mysterious words that he had purposely uttered, hardly
explaining to herself the strange influence which this pernicious
counsellor already exercised over her, and animated by respectful
compassion for a man of his age and talents placed in so precarious a
position, Adrienne said to him, with all her natural cordiality, "A man
of your merit and character, sir, ought not to be at the mercy of the
caprice of circumstances. Some of your words have opened a new horizon
before me; I feel that, on many points, your counsels may be of the
greatest use to me. Moreover, in coming to fetch me from this house, and
in devoting yourself to the service of other persons of my family, you
have shown me marks of interest which I cannot forget without
ingratitude. You have lost a humble but secure situation. Permit me--"
"Not a word more, my dear young lady," said Rodin, interrupting Mdlle. de
Cardoville, with an air of chagrin. "I feel for you the deepest sympathy;
I am honored by having ideas in common with you; I believe firmly that
some day you will have to ask advice of the poor old philosopher; and,
precisely because of all that, I must and ought to maintain towards you
the most complete independence."
"But, sir, it is I that would be the obliged party, if you deigned to
accept what I offer."
"Oh, my dear young lady," said Rodin, with a smile: "I know that your
generosity would always know how to make gratitude light and easy; but,
once more, I cannot accept anything from you. One day, perhaps, you will
know why."
"One day?"
"It is impossible for me to tell you more. And then, supposing I were
under an obligation to you, how could I tell you all that was good and
beautiful in your actions? Hereafter, if you are somewhat indebted to me
for my advice, so much the better; I shall be the more ready to blame
you, if I find anything to blame."
"In this way, sir, you would forbid me to be grateful to you."
"No, no," said Rodin, with apparent emotion. "Oh, believe me! there will
come a solemn moment, in which you may repay all, in a manner worthy of
yourself and me."
This conversation was here interrupted by the nurse, who said to Adrienne
as she entered: "Madame, there is a little humpback workwoman downstairs,
who wishes to speak to you. As, according to the doctor's new orders, you
are to do as you like, I have come to ask, if I am to bring her up to
you. She is so badly dressed, that I did not venture."
"Bring her up, by all means," said Adrienne, hastily, for she had
recognized Mother Bunch by the nurse's description. "Bring her up
directly."
"The doctor has also left word, that his carriage is to be at your
orders, madame; are the horses to be put to?"
"Yes, in a quarter of an hour," answered Adrienne to the nurse, who went
out; then, addressing Rodin, she continued: "I do not think the
magistrate can now be long, before he returns with Marshal Simon's
daughters?"
"I think not, my dear young lady; but who is this deformed workwoman?"
asked Rodin, with an air of indifference.
"The adopted sister of a gallant fellow, who risked all in endeavoring to
rescue me from this house. And, sir," said Adrienne, with emotion, "this
young workwoman is a rare and excellent creature. Never was a nobler
mind, a more generous heart, concealed beneath an exterior less--"
But reflecting, that Rodin seemed to unite in his own person the same
moral and physical contrasts as the sewing-girl, Adrienne stopped short,
and then added, with inimitable grace, as she looked at the Jesuit, who
was somewhat astonished at the sudden pause: "No; this noble girl is not
the only person who proves how loftiness of soul, and superiority of
mind, can make us indifferent to the vain advantages which belong only to
the accidents of birth or fortune." At the moment of Adrienne speaking
these last words, Mother Bunch entered the room.