AMBITION.
A few days after the interview of Djalma and Adrienne, just described, Rodin was alone in his bed-chamber, in the house in the Rue de Vaugirard, walking up and down the room where he had so valiantly undergone the moxas of Dr.Baleinier.With his hands thrust into the hind-pockets of his greatcoat, and his head bowed upon his breast, the Jesuit seemed to be reflecting profoundly, and his varying walk, now slow, now quick, betrayed the agitation of his mind.
"On the side of Rome," said Rodin to himself, "I am tranquil.All is going well.The abdication is as good as settled, and if I can pay them the price agreed, the Prince Cardinal can secure me a majority of nine voices in the conclave.Our General is with me; the doubts of Cardinal Malipieri are at an end, or have found no echo.Yet I am not quite easy, with regard to the reported correspondence between Father d'Aigrigny and Malipieri.I have not been able to intercept any of it.No matter; that soldier's business is settled.A little patience and he will be wiped out."
Here the pale lips were contracted by one of those frightful smiles, which gave to Rodin's countenance so diabolical an expression.
After a pause, he resumed: "The funeral of the freethinker, the philanthropist, the workman's friend, took place yesterday at St.Herem.
Francis Hardy went off in a fit of ecstatic delirium.I had his donation, it is true; but this is more certain.Everything may be disputed in this world; the dead dispute nothing."
Rodin remained in thought for some moments; then he added, in a grave tone: "There remain this red-haired wench and her mulatto.This is the twenty-seventh of May; the first of June approaches, and these turtle-
doves still seem invulnerable.The princess thought she had hit upon a good plan, and I should have thought so too.It was a good idea to mention the discovery of Agricola Baudoin in the madcap's room, for it made the Indian tiger roar with savage jealousy.Yes: but then the dove began to coo, and hold out her pretty beak, and the foolish tiger sheathed his claws, and rolled on the ground before her.It's a pity, for there was some sense in the scheme."
The walk of Rodin became more and more agitated."Nothing is more extraordinary," continued he, "than the generative succession of ideas.
In comparing this red-haired jade to a dove (colombe), I could not help thinking of that infamous old woman, Sainte-Colombe, whom that big rascal Jacques Dumoulin pays his court to, and whom the Abbe Corbinet will finish, I hope, by turning to good account.I have often remarked, that, as a poet may find an excellent rhyme by mere chance, so the germ of the best ideas is sometimes found in a word, or in some absurd resemblance like the present.That abominable hag, Sainte-Colombo, and the pretty Adrienne de Cardoville, go as well together, as a ring would suit a cat, or a necklace a fish.Well, there is nothing in it."
Hardly had Rodin pronounced these words, than he started suddenly, and his face shone with a fatal joy.Then it assumed an expression of meditative astonishment, as happens when chance reveals some unexpected discovery to the surprised and charmed inquirer after knowledge.
Soon, with raised head and sparkling eye, his hollow cheeks swelling with joy and pride, Rodin folded his arms in triumph on his breast, and exclaimed: "Oh! how admirable and marvellous are these mysterious evolutions of the mind; how incomprehensible is the chain of human thought, which, starting from an absurd jingle of words, arrives at a splendid or luminous idea! Is it weakness? or is it strength? Strange--
very strange! I compare the red-haired girl to a dove--a colombe.That makes me think of the hag, who traded in the bodies and souls of so many creatures.Vulgar proverbs occur to me, about a ring and a cat, a fish and a necklace--and suddenly, at the word NECKLACE, a new light dawns upon me.Yes: that one word NECKLACE shall be to me a golden key, to open the portals of my brain, so long foolishly closed."
And, after again walking hastily up and down, Rodin continued: "Yes, it is worth attempting.The more I reflect upon it, the more feasible it appears.Only how to get at that wretch, Saint-Colombe? Well, there is Jacques Dumoulin, and the other--where to find her? That is the stumbling-block.I must not shout before I am out of the wood."
Rodin began again to walk, biting his nails with an air of deep thought.
For some moments, such was the tension of his mind, large drops of sweat stood on his yellow brow.He walked up and down, stopped, stamped with his foot, now raised his eyes as if in search of an inspiration, and now scratched his head violently with his left hand, whilst he continued to gnaw the nails of the right.Finally, from time to time, he uttered exclamations of rage, despondency, or hope, as by turns they took possession of his mind.If the cause of this monster's agitation had not been horrible, it would have been a curious and interesting spectacle to watch the labors of that powerful brain--to follow, as it were, on that shifting countenance, the progress and development of the project, on which he was now concentrating all the resources of his strong intellect.
At length, the work appeared to be near completion, for Rodin resumed:
"Yes, yes! it is bold, hazardous--but then it is prompt, and the consequences may be incalculable.Who can foresee the effects of the explosion of a mine?"
Then, yielding to a movement of enthusiasm, which was hardly natural to him, the Jesuit exclaimed, with rapture: "Oh, the passions! the passions!
