Collected Works of Eugène Sue

by Eugène Sue

  An old footman opened both of the folding doors, and announced the Marquis-Abbe d’Aigrigny.

  “If Miss de Cardoville present herself,” said the princess to Mrs. Grivois, “you will request her to wait an instant.”

  “Yes, madame,” said the duenna, going out with the servant.

  Madame de Saint-Dizier and D’Aigrigny remained alone.

  CHAPTER XXXVII. THE PLOT.

  THE ABBE-MARQUIS D’AIGRIGNY, as the reader has easily divined, was the person already seen in the Rue du Milieu-des-Ursins; whence he had departed from Rome, in which city he had remained about three months. The marquis was dressed in deep mourning, but with his usual elegance. His was not a priestly robe; his black coat, and his waistcoat, tightly gathered in at the waist, set off to great advantage the elegance of his figure: his black cassimere pantaloons disguised his feet, exactly fitted with lace boots, brilliantly polished. And all traces of his tonsure disappeared in the midst of the slight baldness which whitened slightly the back part of his head. There was nothing in his entire costume, or aspect, that revealed the priest, except, perhaps, the entire absence of beard, the more remarkable upon so manly a countenance. His chin, newly shaved, rested on a large and elevated black cravat, tied with a military ostentation which reminded the beholder, that this abbe-marquis this celebrated preacher — now one of the most active and influential chiefs of his order, had commanded a regiment of hussars upon the Restoration, and had fought in aid of the Russians against France.

  Returned to Paris only this morning, the marquis had not seen the princess since his mother, the Dowager Marchioness d’Aigrigny, had died near Dunkirk, upon an estate belonging to Madame de Saint-Dizier, while vainly calling for her son to alleviate her last moments; but the order to which M. d’Aigrigny had thought fit to sacrifice the most sacred feeling and duties of nature, having been suddenly transmitted to him from Rome, he had immediately set out for that city; though not without hesitation, which was remarked and denounced by Rodin; for the love of M. d’Aigrigny for his mother had been the only pure feeling that had invariably distinguished his life.

  When the servant had discreetly withdrawn with Mrs. Grivois, the marquis quickly approached the princess, held out his hand to her, and said with a voice of emotion:

  “Herminia, have you not concealed something in your letters. In her last moments did not my mother curse me?”

  “No, no, Frederick, compose yourself. She had anxiously desired your presence. Her ideas soon became confused. But in her delirium it was still for you that she called.”

  “Yes,” said the marquis, bitterly; “her maternal instinct doubtless assured her that my presence could have saved her life.”

  “I entreat you to banish these sad recollections,” said the princess, “this misfortune is irreparable.”

  “Tell me for the last time, truly, did not my absence cruelly affect my mother? Had she no suspicion that a more imperious duty called me elsewhere?”

  “No, no, I assure you. Even when her reason was shaken, she believed that you had not yet had time to come to her. All the sad details which I wrote to you upon this painful subject are strictly true. Again, I beg of you to compose yourself.”

  “Yes, my conscience ought to be easy; for I have fulfilled my duty in sacrificing my mother. Yet I have never been able to arrive at that complete detachment from natural affection, which is commanded to us by those awful words: ‘He who hates not his father and his mother, even with the soul, cannot be my disciple.’”(9)

  “Doubtless, Frederick,” said the princess, “these renunciations are painful. But, in return, what influence, what power!”

  “It is true,” said the marquis, after a moment’s silence. “What ought not to be sacrificed in order to reign in secret over the all-powerful of the earth, who lord it in full day? This journey to Rome, from which I have just returned, has given me a new idea of our formidable power. For, Herminia, it is Rome which is the culminating point, overlooking the fairest and broadest quarters of the globe, made so by custom, by tradition, or by faith. Thence can our workings be embraced in their full extent. It is an uncommon view to see from its height the myriad tools, whose personality is continually absorbed into the immovable personality of our Order. What a might we possess! Verily, I am always swayed with admiration, aye, almost frightened, that man once thinks, wishes, believes, and acts as he alone lists, until, soon ours, he becomes but a human shell; its kernel of intelligence, mind, reason, conscience, and free will, shrivelled within him, dry and withered by the habit of mutely, fearingly bowing under mysterious tasks, which shatter and slay everything spontaneous in the human soul! Then do we infuse in such spiritless clay, speechless, cold, and motionless as corpses, the breath of our Order, and, lo! the dry bones stand up and walk, acting and executing, though only within the limits which are circled round them evermore. Thus do they become mere limbs of the gigantic trunk, whose impulses they mechanically carry out, while ignorant of the design, like the stonecutter who shapes out a stone, unaware if it be for cathedral or bagnio.”

  In so speaking, the marquis’s features wore an incredible air of proud and domineering haughtiness.

  “Oh, yes! this power is great, most great,” observed the princess; “and the more formidable because it moves in a mysterious way over minds and consciences.”

  “Aye, Herminia,” said the marquis: “I have had under my command a magnificent regiment. Very often have I experienced the energetic and exquisite enjoyment of command! At my word my squadrons put themselves in action; bugles blared, my officers, glittering in golden embroidery, galloped everywhere to repeat my orders: all my brave soldiers, burning with courage, and cicatrized by battles, obeyed my signal; and I felt proud and strong, holding as I did (so to speak) in my hands, the force and valor of each and all combined into one being of resistless strength and invincible intrepidity, — of all of which I was as much the master, as I mastered the rage and fire of my war-horse! Aye! that was greatness. But now, in spite of the misfortunes which have befallen our Order, I feel myself a thousand times more ready for action, more authoritative, more strong and more daring, at the head of our mute and black-robed militia, who only think and wish, or move and obey, mechanically, according to my will. On a sign they scatter over the surface of the globe, gliding stealthily into households under the guise of confessing the wife or teaching the children, into family affairs by hearing the dying avowals, — up to the throne through the quaking conscience of a credulous crowned coward; — aye, even to the chair of the Pope himself, living manifesto of the Godhead though he is, by the services rendered him or imposed by him. Is not this secret rule, made to kindle or glut the wildest ambition, as it reaches from the cradle to the grave, from the laborer’s hovel to the royal palace, from palace to the papal chair? What career in all the world presents such splendid openings? what unutterable scorn ought I not feel for the bright butterfly life of early days, when we made so many envy us? Don’t you remember, Herminia?” he added, with a bitter smile.

  “You are right, perfectly right, Frederick!” replied the princess quickly. “How little soever we may reflect, with what contempt do we not think upon the past! I, like you, often compare it with the present; and then what satisfaction I feel at having followed your counsels! For, indeed, without you, I should have played the miserable and ridiculous part which a woman always plays in her decline from having been beautiful and surrounded by admirers. What could I have done at this hour? I should have vainly striven to retain around me a selfish and ungrateful world of gross and shameful men, who court women only that they may turn them to the service of their passions, or to the gratification of their vanity. It is true that there would have remained to me the resource of what is called keeping an agreeable house for all others, — yes, in order to entertain them, be visited by a crowd of the indifferent, to afford opportunities of meeting to amorous young couples, who, following each other from parlor to parlor, come not to your house but for the
purpose of being together; a very pretty pleasure, truly, that of harboring those blooming, laughing, amorous youths, who look upon the luxury and brilliancy with which one surrounds them, as if they were their due upon bonds to minister to their pleasure, and to their impudent amours!”

  Her words were so stinging, and such hateful envy sat upon her face, that she betrayed the intense bitterness of her regrets in spite of herself.

  “NO, no; thanks to you, Frederick,” she continued, “After a last and brilliant triumph, I broke forever with the world, which would soon have abandoned me, though I was so long its idol and its queen. And I have only changed my queendom. Instead of the dissipated men whom I ruled with a frivolity superior to their own, I now find myself surrounded by men of high consideration, of redoubtable character, and all-powerful, many of whom have governed the state; to them I have devoted myself, as they have devoted themselves to me! It is now only that I really enjoy that happiness, of which I ever dreamt. I have taken an active part and have exercised a powerful influence over the greatest interests of the world; I have been initiated into the most important secrets; I have been able to strike, surely, whosoever scoffed at or hated me; and I have been able to elevate beyond their hopes those who have served or respected and obeyed me.”

  “There are some madmen, and some so blind, that they imagine that we are struck down, because we ourselves have had to struggle against some misfortunes,” said M. d’Aigrigny, disdainfully, “as if we were not, above all others, securely founded, organized for every struggle, and drew not from our very struggles a new and more vigorous activity. Doubtless the times are bad. But they will become better; and, as you know, it is nearly certain that in a few days (the 13th of February), we shall have at our disposal a means of action sufficiently powerful for re establishing our influence which has been temporarily shaken.”

  “Yes, doubtless this affair of the medals is most important,” said the princess.

  “I should not have made so much haste to return hither,” resumed the abbe, “were it not to act in what will be, perhaps, for us, a very great event.”

  “But you are aware of the fatality which has once again overthrown projects the most laboriously conceived and matured?”

  “Yes; immediately on arriving I saw Rodin.”

  “And he told you — ?”

  “The inconceivable arrival of the Indian, and of General Simon’s daughters at Cardoville Castle, after a double shipwreck, which threw them upon the coast of Picardy; though it was deemed certain that the young girls were at Leipsic, and the Indian in Java. Precautions were so well taken, indeed,” added the marquis in vexation, “that one would think an invisible power protects this family.”

  “Happily, Rodin is a man of resources and activity,” resumed the princess. “He came here last night, and we had a long conversation.”

  “And the result of your consultation is excellent,” added the marquis: “the old soldier is to be kept out of the way for two days; and his wife’s confessor has been posted; the rest will proceed of itself. To morrow, the girls need no longer be feared; and the Indian remains at Cardoville, wounded dangerously. We have plenty of time for action.”

  “But that is not all,” continued the princess: “there are still, without reckoning my niece, two persons, who, for our interests, ought not to be found in Paris on the 13th of February.”

  “Yes, M. Hardy: but his most dear and intimate friend has betrayed him; for, by means of that friend, we have drawn M. Hardy into the South, whence it is impossible for him to return before a month. As for that miserable vagabond workman, surnamed ‘Sleepinbuff!’”

  “Fie!” exclaimed the princess, with an expression of outraged modesty.

  “That man,” resumed the marquis, “is no longer an object of inquietude. Lastly, Gabriel, upon whom our vast and certain hope reposes, will not be left by himself for a single minute until the great day. Everything seems, you see, to promise success; indeed, more so than ever; and it is necessary to obtain this success at any price. It is for us a question of life or death; for, in returning, I stopped at Forli, and there saw the Duke d’Orbano. His influence over the mind of the king is all powerful — indeed, absolute; and he has completely prepossessed the royal mind. It is with the duke alone, then, that it is possible to treat.”

  “Well?”

  “D’Orbano has gained strength; and he can, I know it, assure to us a legal existence, highly protected, in the dominions of his master, with full charge of popular education. Thanks to such advantages, after two or three years in that country we shall become so deeply rooted, that this very Duke d’Orbano, in his turn, will have to solicit support and protection from us. But at present he has everything in his power; and he puts an absolute condition upon his services.”

  “What is the condition?”

  “Five millions down; and an annual pension of a hundred thousand francs.”

  “It is very much.”

  “Nay, but little if it be considered that our foot once planted in that country, we shall promptly repossess ourselves of that sum, which, after all, is scarcely an eighth part of what the affair of the medals, if happily brought to an issue, ought to assure to the Order.”

  “Yes, nearly forty millions,” said the princess, thoughtfully.

  “And again: these five millions that Orbano demands will be but an advance. They will be returned to us in voluntary gifts, by reason even of the increase of influence that we shall acquire from the education of children; through whom we have their families. And yet, the fools hesitate! those who govern see not, that in doing our own business, we do theirs also; — that in abandoning education to us (which is what we wish for above all things) we mold the people into that mute and quiet obedience, that servile and brutal submission, which assures the repose of states by the immobility of the mind. They don’t reflect that most of the upper and middle classes fear and hate us; don’t understand that (when we have persuaded the mass that their wretchedness is an eternal law, that sufferers must give up hope of relief, that it is a crime to sigh for welfare in this world, since the crown of glory on high is the only reward for misery here), then the stupefied people will resignedly wallow in the mire, all their impatient aspirations for better days smothered, and the volcano-blasts blown aside, which made the future of rulers so horrid and so dark? They see not, in truth, that this blind and passive faith which we demand from the mass, furnishes their rulers with a bridle with which both to conduct and curb them; whilst we ask from the happy of the world only some appearances which ought, if they had only the knowledge of their own corruption, to give an increased stimulant to their pleasures.

  “It signifies not,” resumed the princess; “since, as you say, a great day is at hand, bringing nearly forty millions, of which the Order can become possessed by the happy success of the affair of the medals. We certainly can attempt very great things. Like a lever in your hands, such a means of action would be of incalculable power, in times during which all men buy and sell one another.”

  “And then,” resumed M. d’Aigrigny, with a thoughtful air, “here the reaction continues: the example of France is everything. In Austria and Holland we can rarely maintain ourselves; while the resources of the Order diminish from day to day. We have arrived at a crisis; but it can be made to prolong itself. Thus, thanks to the immense resource of the affair of the medals, we can not only brave all eventualities, but we can again powerfully establish ourselves, thanks to the offer of the Duke d’Orbano, which we accept; and then, from that inassailable centre, our radiations will be incalculable. Ah! the 13th of February!” added M. d’Aigrigny, after a moment of silence, and shaking his head: “the 13th of February, a date perhaps fortunate and famous for our power as that of the council which gave to us (so to say) a new life!”

  “And nothing must be spared.” resumed the princess, “in order to succeed at any price. Of the six persons whom we have to fear, five are or will be out of any condition to hurt us. There rema
ins then only my niece; and you know that I have waited but for your arrival in order to take my last resolution. All my preparations are completed; and this very morning we will begin to act.”

  “Have your suspicions increased since your last letter?”

  “Yes, I am certain that she is more instructed than she wishes to appear; and if so, we shall not have a more dangerous enemy.”

  “Such has always been my opinion. Thus it is six month: since I advised you to take in all cases the measures which you have adopted, in order to provoke, on her part, that demand of emancipation, the consequences of which now render quite easy that which would have been impossible without it.”

  “At last,” said the princess, with an expression of joy, hateful and bitter, “this indomitable spirit will be broken. I am at length about to be avenged of the many insolent sarcasms which I have been compelled to swallow, lest I should awaken her suspicions. I! I to have borne so much till now! for this Adrienne has made it her business (imprudent as she is!) to irritate me against herself!”

  “Whosoever offends you, offends me; you know it,” said D’Aigrigny, “my hatreds are yours.”

  “And you yourself!” said the princess, “how many times have you been the butt of her poignant irony!”

  “My instincts seldom deceive me. I am certain that this young girl may become a dangerous enemy for us,” said the marquis, with a voice painfully broken into short monosyllables.

  “And, therefore, it is necessary that she may be rendered incapable of exciting further fear,” responded Madame de Saint-Dizier, fixedly regarding the marquis.

  “Have you seen Dr. Baleinier, and the sub-guardian, M. Tripeaud?” asked he.

  “They will be here this morning. I have informed them of everything.”

  “Did you find them well disposed to act against her?”