'So, my son,' said Father d'Aigrigny, rising with livid and despairing look, 'you come to ask of me to break the ties which attach you to the Society?'
'Yes, father; you received my vows—it is for you to release me from them.'
'So, my son, you understand that engagements once freely taken by you, are now to be considered as null and void?'
'Yes, father.'
'So, my son, there is to be henceforth nothing in common between you and our Company?'
'No, father—since I request you to absolve me of my vows.'
'But, you know, my son, that the Society may release you—but that you cannot release yourself.'
'The step I take proves to you, father, the importance I attach to an oath, since I come to you to release me from it. Nevertheless, were you to refuse me, I should not think myself bound in the eyes of God or man.'
'It is perfectly clear,' said Father d'Aigrigny to Rodin, his voice expiring upon his lips, so deep was his despair.
Suddenly, whilst Gabriel, with downcast eyes, waited for the answer of Father d'Aigrigny, who remained mute and motionless, Rodin appeared struck with a new idea, on perceiving that the reverend father still held in his hand the note written in pencil. The socius hastily approached Father d'Aigrigny, and said to him in a whisper, with a look of doubt and alarm: 'Have you not read my note?'
'I did not think of it,' answered the reverend father, mechanically.
Rodin appeared to make a great effort to repress a movement of violent rage. Then he said to Father d'Aigrigny, in a calm voice: 'Read it now.'
Hardly had the reverend father cast his eyes upon this note, than a sudden ray of hope illumined his hitherto despairing countenance. Pressing the hand of the socius with an expression of deep gratitude, he said to him in a low voice: 'You are right. Gabriel is ours.'
(16) The statutes formally state that the Company can expel all drones and wasps, but that no man can break his ties, if the Order wishes to retain him.
(17) This is their own command. The constitution expressly bids the novice wait for this decisive climax of the ordeal before taking the vows of God.
(18) It is impossible, even in Latin, to give our readers an idea of this infamous work.
(19) This is true. See the extracts from the Compendium for the use of Schools, published under the title of 'Discoveries by a Bibliophilist.' Strasburg, 1843. For regicide, see Sanchez and others.
CHAPTER XXI. THE CHANGE.
Before again addressing Gabriel, Father d'Aigrigny carefully reflected; and his countenance, lately so disturbed, became gradually once more serene. He appeared to meditate and calculate the effects of the eloquence he was about to employ, upon an excellent and safe theme, which the socius struck with the danger of the situation, had suggested in a few lines rapidly written with a pencil, and which, in his despair, the reverend father had at first neglected. Rodin resumed his post of observation near the mantelpiece, on which he leaned his elbow, after casting at Father d'Aigrigny a glance of disdainful and angry superiority, accompanied by a significant shrug of the shoulders.
After this involuntary manifestation, which was luckily not perceived by Father d'Aigrigny, the cadaverous face of the socius resumed its icy calmness, and his flabby eyelids, raised a moment with anger and impatience, fell, and half-veiled his little, dull eyes. It must be confessed that Father d'Aigrigny, notwithstanding the ease and elegance of his speech, notwithstanding the seduction of his exquisite manners, his agreeable features, and the exterior of an accomplished and refined man of the world, was often subdued and governed by the unpitying firmness, the diabolical craft and depth of Rodin, the old, repulsive, dirty, miserably dressed man, who seldom abandoned his humble part of secretary and mute auditor. The influence of education is so powerful, that Gabriel, notwithstanding the formal rupture he had just provoked, felt himself still intimidated in presence of Father d'Aigrigny, and waited with painful anxiety for the answer of the reverend father to his express demand to be released from his old vows. His reverence having, doubtless, regularly laid his plan of attack, at length broke silence, heaved a deep sigh, gave to his countenance, lately so severe and irritated, a touching expression of kindness, and said to Gabriel, in an affectionate voice: 'Forgive me, my dear son, for having kept silence so long; but your abrupt determination has so stunned me, and has raised within me so many painful thoughts, that I have had to reflect for some moments, to try and penetrate the cause of this rupture, and I think I have succeeded. You have well considered, my dear son, the serious nature of the step you are taking?'
'Yes, father.'
'And you have absolutely decided to abandon the Society, even against my will?'
'It would be painful to me, father—but I must resign myself to it.'
'It should be very painful to you, indeed, my dear son; for you took the irrevocable vow freely, and this vow, according to our statutes, binds you not to quit the Society, unless with the consent of your superiors.'
'I did not then know, father, the nature of the engagement I took. More enlightened now, I ask to withdraw myself; my only desire is to obtain a curacy in some village far from Paris. I feel an irresistible vocation for such humble and useful functions. In the country, there is so much misery, and such ignorance of all that could contribute to ameliorate the condition of the agricultural laborer, that his existence is as unhappy as that of a negro slave; for what liberty has he? and what instruction? Oh! it seems to me, that, with God's help, I might, as a village curate, render some services to humanity. It would therefore be painful to me, father, to see you refuse—'
'Be satisfied, my son,' answered Father d'Aigrigny; 'I will no longer seek to combat your desire to separate yourself from us.'
'Then, father, you release me from my vows?'
'I have not the power to do so, my dear son; but I will write immediately to Rome, to ask the necessary authority from our general.'
'I thank you, father.'
'Soon, my dear son, you will be delivered from these bonds, which you deem so heavy; and the men you abandon will not the less continue to pray for you, that God may preserve you from still greater wanderings. You think yourself released with regard to us, my dear son; but we do not think ourselves released with regard to you. It is not thus that we can get rid of the habit of paternal attachment. What would you have? We look upon ourselves as bound to our children, by the very benefits with which we have loaded them. You were poor, and an orphan; we stretched out our arms to you, as much from the interest which you deserved, my dear son, as to spare your excellent adopted mother too great a burden.'
'Father,' said Gabriel, with suppressed emotion, 'I am not ungrateful.'
'I wish to believe so, my dear son. For long years, we gave to you, as to our beloved child, food for the body and the soul. It pleases you now to renounce and abandon us. Not only do we consent to it—but now that I have penetrated the true motives of your rupture with us, it is my duty to release you from your vow.'
'Of what motives do you speak, Father?'
'Alas! my dear son, I understand your fears. Dangers menace us—you know it well.'
'Dangers, father?' cried Gabriel.
'It is impossible, my dear son, that you should not be aware that, since the fall of our legitimate sovereigns, our natural protectors, revolutionary impiety becomes daily more and more threatening. We are oppressed with persecutions. I can, therefore, comprehend and appreciate, my dear son, the motive which under such circumstances, induces you to separate from us.'
'Father!' cried Gabriel, with as much indignation as grief, 'you do not think that of me—you cannot think it.'
Without noticing the protestations of Gabriel, Father d'Aigrigny continued his imaginary picture of the dangers of the Company, which, far from being really in peril, was already beginning secretly to recover its influence.
'Oh! if our Company were now as powerful as it was some years ago,' resumed the reverend father; 'if it were still surrounded by the respect and homage which are due to it from all true believers—in spite of the abominable calumnies with which we are assailed—then, my dear son, we should perhaps have hesitated to release you from your vows, and have rather endeavored to open your eyes to the light, and save you from the fatal delusion to which you are a prey. But now that we are weak, oppressed, threatened on every side, it is our duty, it is an act of charity, not to force you to share in perils from which you have the prudence to wish to withdraw
