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in the Lord's temple. It is, you say, your
right. You are doing an act of terrible
justice. But why then so many vigorous
arms to make an end of one dying man?
"Why these outcries? this fury? this vio-
lence? Is it thus that the people, the
strong and equitable people, are wont to
execute their judgments? No, no; when,
sure of their right, they strike their ene-
mies, it is with the calmness of the judge,
who, in freedom of soul and conscience,
passes sentence. No, the strong and equi-
table people do not deal their blows like men
blind or mad, uttering cries of rage, as if
to drown the sense of some cowardly and
horrible murder. No, it is not thus that
they exercise the formidable right, to which
you now lay claim for you will have it "

"Yes, we will have it!" shouted the
quarryman, Ciboule, and others of the


more pitiless portion of the mob; while
a great number remained silent, struck
with the words of Gabriel, who had just
painted to them, in such lively colors, the
frightful act they were about to commit.

"Yes," resumed the quarryman, "it is
our right; we have determined to kill the

So saying, and with bloodshot eyes and
flushed cheek, the wretch advanced at the
head of a resolute group, making a gesture
as though he would have pushed aside Ga-
briel, who was still standing in front of
the railing. But, instead of resisting the -
bandit, the missionary advanced a couple
of steps to meet him, took him by the arm,
and said in a firm voice: "Come!"

And dragging, as it were, with him the
stupefied quarryman, whose companions
did not venture to follow at the moment,
struck dumb as they were by this new in-
cident, Gabriel rapidly traversed the space
which separated him from the choir, opened
the iron gate, and, still holding the quarry-
man by the arm, led him up to the pros-
trate form of Father d'Aigrigny, and said
to him: "There is the victim. He is con-
demned. Strike!"

"I!" cried the quarryman, hesitating;
"I all alone!"


"Oh!" replied Gabriel, with bitterness,
"there is no danger. You can easily fin-
ish him. Look! he is broken down with
suffering; he has hardly a breath of life
left ; he will make no resistance. Do not
be afraid!"

The quarry man remained motionless,
while the crowd, strangely impressed with
this incident, approached a little nearer the
railing, without daring to come witEin the

"Strike, then!" resumed Gabriel, ad-
dressing the quarryman, while he pointed
to the crowd with a solemn gesture ; "there
are the judges; you are the executioner."

"No!" cried the quarryman, drawing
back, and turning away his eyes; "I'm
not the executioner not I!"

The crowd remained silent. For a few
moments, not a word, not a cry, disturbed
the stillness of the solemn Cathedral. In
a desperate case, Gabriel had acted with a
profound knowledge of the human heart.
When the multitude, inflamed with blind
rage, rushes with ferocious clamor upon a
single victim, and each man strikes his
blow, this dreadful species of combined
murder appears less horrible to each, be-
cause they all share in the common crime ;
and then the shouts, the sight of blood, the


desperate defense of the man they mas-
sacre, finish by producing a sort of fero-
cious intoxication; but, among all those
furious madmen, who take part in the
homicide, select one, and place him face
to face with the victim, no longer capable
of resistance, and say to him, "Strike!"
he will hardly ever dare to do so.

It was thus with the quarryman; the
wretch trembled at the idea of committing
a murder in cold blood, "all alone." The
preceding scene had passed very rapidly;
among the companions of the quarryman,
nearest to the railing, some did not under-
stand an impression, which they would
themselves have felt as strongly as this
bold man, if it had been said "to them : "Do
the office of executioner!" These, there-
fore, began to murmur aloud at his weak-
ness. "He dares not finish the poisoner,"
said one.

"The coward!"

"He is afraid."

"He draws back."

Hearing these words, the quarryman ran
to the gate, threw it wide open, and, point-
ing to Father d'Aigrigny, exclaimed: "If
there is one here braver than I am, let him
go and finish the job let him be the exe-
cutioner come ! ' '


On this proposal the murmurs ceased.
A deep silence reigned once more in the
Cathedral. All those countenances, but
now so furious, became sad, confused, al-
most frightened. The deluded mob began
to appreciate the ferocious cowardice of the
action it had been about to commit. Not
one durst go alone to strike the half-expir
ing man. Suddenly, Father d'Aigrigny
uttered a dying rattle, his head and one of
his arms stirred with a convulsive move-
ment, and then fell back upon the stones
as if he had just expired.

Gabriel uttered a cry of anguish, and
threw himself on his knees close to Father
d'Aigrigny, exclaiming: "Great Heaven!
he is dead!"

There is a singular variableness in the
mind of a crowd, susceptible alike to good
or evil impressions. At the heart-pierc-
ing cry of Gabriel, all these people, who,
a moment before, had demanded with loud
uproar the massacre of this man, felt
touched with a sudden pity. The words
"He is dead!" circulated in low whispers
through the crowd, accompanied by a
slight shudder, while Gabriel raised with
one hand the victim's heavy head, and
with the other sought to feel if the pulse
still beat beneath the ice-cold skin.


"Mr. Curate," said the quarryman,
bending toward Gabriel, "is there really
no hope?"

The answer was waited for with anxiety,
in the midst of deep silence. The people
hardly ventured to exchange a few words
in whispers.

"Blessed be God!" exclaimed Gabriel,
suddenly. "His heart beats."

"His heart beats," repeated the quarry-
man, turning his head toward the crowd,
to inform them of the good news.

"Oh! his heart beats!" repeated the
others, in whispers.

"There is hope. We may yet save him, "
added Gabriel, with an expression of inde-
scribable happiness.

"We may yet save him," repeated the
quarryman, mechanically.

"We may yet save him," muttered the

"Quick, quick," resumed Gabriel, ad-
dressing the quarryman: "help me,
orother. Let us carry him to a neigh-
boring house, where he can have im-
mediate aid."

The quarryman obeyed with readiness.
While the missionary lifted Father d'Ai-
grigny by holding him under the arms,
the quarryman took the legs of the almost


inanimate body. Together, they carried
him outside of the choir. At sight of the
formidable quarryman, aiding the young
priest to render assistance to the man
whom he had just before pursued with
menaces of death, the multitude felt a sud-
den thrill of compassion. Yielding to the
powerful influence of the words and ex-
ample of Gabriel, they felt themselves
deeply moved, and each became anxious
to offer his services.

"Mr. Curate, he would perhaps be bet-
ter on a chair, that one could carry up-
right," said Ciboule.

"Shall I go and fetch a stretcher from
the hospital?" asked another.

"Mr. Curate, let me take your place;
the body is too heavy for you."

"Don't trouble yourself," said a power-
ful man, approaching the missionary re-
spectfully; "I can carry him alone."

"Shall I run and fetch a coach, Mr.
Curate?" said a young vagabond, taking
off his red cap.

"Right," said the quarryman; "run
away, my buck!"

"But first, ask Mr. Curate if you are to
go for a coach," said Ciboule, stopping the
impatient messenger.

"True," added one of the bystanders;


"we are here in a church, and Mr. Curate
has the command. He is at home."

"Yes, yes; go at once, my child," said
Gabriel to the obliging young vagabond.

While the latter was making his way
through the crowd, a voice said: "I've a
little wicker- bottle of brandy; will that be
of any use?"

"No doubt, u answered Gabriel, hastily;
"pray give it here. We can rub his tem-
ples with the spirit, and make him inhale
a little."

"Pass the bottle," cried Ciboule; "but
don't put your noses in it!" And, passed
with caution from hand to hand, the flask
reached Gabriel in safety.

While waiting for the coming of the
coach, Father d'Aigrigny had been seated
on a chair. While several good-natured
people carefully supported the abbe, the
missionary made him inhale a little brandy.
In a few minutes, the spirit had a power-
ful influence on the Jesuit; he made some
slight movements, and his oppressed bosom
heaved with a deep sigh.

"He is saved he will live," cried Ga-
briel, in a triumphant voice; "he will live,
my brothers!"

"Oh! glad to hear it!" exclaimed many


"Oh, yes! be glad, my brothers!" re-
peated Gabriel; "for, instead of being
weighed down with the remorse of crime,
you will have a just and charitable action
to remember. Let us thank God that He
has changed your blind fury into a senti-
ment of compassion ! Let us pray to Him
that neither you, nor those you love, may
ever be exposed to such frightful danger
as this unfortunate man has just escaped.
Oh, my brothers!" added Gabriel, as he
pointed to the image of Christ with touch-
ing emotion, which communicated itself
the more easily to others from the expres-
sion of his angelic countenance; "oh, my
brothers! let us never forget, that HE,
who died upon that cross for the defense
of the oppressed, for the obscure children
of the people like to ourselves, pronounced
those affectionate words so sweet to the
heart: 'Love ye one another!' Let us
never forget it; let us love and help one
another, and we poor people shall then
become better, happier, just. Love yes,
love ye one another and fall prostrate
before that Saviour, who is the God of all
that are weak, oppressed, and suffering in
this world!"

So saying, Gabriel knelt down. All
present respectfully followed his example,


such power was there in his simple and
persuasive words. At this moment, a
singular incident added to the grandeur
of the scene. We have said that a few
seconds before the quarryman and his band
entered the body of the church, several
persons had fled from it. Two of these
had taken refuge in the organ-loft, from
which retreat they had viewed the preced-
ing scene, themselves remaining invisible.
One of these persons was a young man,
charged with the care of the organ, and
quite musician enough to play on it.
Deeply moved by the unexpected turn of
an event which, at first appeared so tragi-
cal, and yielding to an artistical inspira-
tion, this young man, at the moment when
he saw the people kneeling with Gabriel,
could not forbear striking the notes. Then
a sort of harmonious sigh, at first almost
insensible, seemed to rise from the midst
of this immense cathedral, like a divine
aspiration. As soft and aerial as the
balmy vapor of incense, it mounted and
spread through the lofty arches. Little
by little, the faint, sweet sounds, though
still were covered, changed to an ex-
quisite melody, religious, melancholy, and
affectionate, which rose to Heaven like a
song of ineffable gratitude and love. And


the notes were at first so faint, so covered,
that the kneeling multitude had scarcely
felt surprise, and had yielded insensibly to
the irresistible influence of that enchanting

Then many an eye until now dry and
ferocious, became wet with tears many
hard hearts beat gently as they remem-
bered the words pronounced by Gabriel
with so tender an accent: "Love ye one
another!" It was at this moment that
Father d'Aigrigny came to himself aud
opened his eyes. He thought himself un-
der the influence of a dream. He had lost
his senses in sight of a furious populace,
who, with insult and blasphemy on their
lips, pursued him with cries of death even
to the sanctuary of the temple. He opened
his eyes and, by the pale light of the
sacred lamps, to the solemn music of the
organ, he saw that crowd, just now so
menacing and implacable, kneeling in
mute and reverential emotion, and hum-
bly bowing their heads before the majesty
of the shrine.

Some minutes after, Gabriel, carried al-
most in triumph on the shoulders of the
crowd, entered the coach, in which Father
d'Aigrigny, who by degrees had complete-


ly recovered his senses, was already reclin-
ing. By the order of the Jesuit, the coach
stopped before the door of a house in the
Eue de Vaugirard; he had the strength
and courage to enter this dwelling alone;
Gabriel was not admitted, but we shall
conduct the reader thither.



AT the end of the Rue de Vaugirard
there was then a very high wall, with only
one small doorway in all its length. On
opening this door, you entered a yard sur-
rounded by a railing, with screens like
Venetian blinds, to prevent your seeing
between the rails. Crossing this court-
yard, you come to a fine large garden,
symmetrically planted, at the end of which
stood a building two stories high, looking
perfectly comfortable, without luxury, but
with all that cozy simplicity which be-
tokens discreet opulence. A few days had
elapsed since Father d'Aigrigny had been
so courageously rescued by Gabriel from the
popular fury. Three ecclesiastics, wearing
black gowns, white bands, and square caps,
were walking in the garden with a slow
and measured step. The youngest seemed


to be about thirty years of age; his coun-
tenance was pale, hollow, and impressed
with a certain ascetic austerity. His two
companions, aged between fifty or sixty,
had, OD the contrary, faces at once hypo-
critical and cunning; their round, rosy
cheeks shone brightly in the sunshine,
while their triple chins, buried in fat, de-
scended in soft folds over the fine cambric
of their bands. According to the rules of
their Order (they belonged to the Society
of Jesus), which forbade their walking
only two togethe'r, these three members
of the brotherhood never quitted each
other a moment.

"I fear," said one of the two, contin-
uing a conversation already begun, and
speaking of an absent person, "I fear,
that the continual agitation to which the
reverend father has been a prey, ever since
he was attacked with the cholera, has ex-
hausted his strength, and caused the dan-
gerous relapse which now makes us fear
for his life."

"They say," resumed the other, "that
never was there seen anxiety like to his."

"And moreover," remarked the young
priest, bitterly, "it is painful to think that
his reverence Father Rodin has given cause
for scandal, by obstinately refusing to


make a public confession, the day before
yesterday, when his situation appeared so
desperate, that, between two fits of de-
lirium, it was thought right to propose to
him to receive the last sacraments."

"His reverence declared that he was not
so ill as they supposed," answered one of
the fathers, "and that he would have the
last duties performed when he thought

"The fact is, that for the last ten days,
ever since he was brought here dying, his
life has been, as it were, only a long and
painful agony; yet he continues to live."

"I watched by him during the first three
days of his malady with M. Rousselet, the
pupil of Dr. Baleinier," resumed the
youngest father; "he had hardly a mo-
ment's consciousness, and when the Lord
did grant him a lucid interval, he employed
it in detestable execrations against the fate
whfch had confined him to his bed."

"It is said," resumed the other, "that
Father Rodin made answer to his Emi-
nence Cardinal Malipieri, who came to
persuade him to die in an exemplary man-
ner, worthy of a son of Loyola, our blessed
founder" at these words, the three Jesuits
bowed their heads together, as if they had
been all moved by the same spring "it is


said that Father Rodin made answer to his
Eminence : ' I do not need to confess public-

"I did not hear that," said the young
priest, with an indignant air; "but if
Father Rodin really made use of such
expressions, it is "

Here, no doubt, reflection came to him
just in time, for he stole a sidelong glance
at his two silent, impassible companions,
and added: "It is a great misfortune for
his soul; but I am certain his reverence
has been slandered."

"It was only as a calumnious report that
I mentioned those words," said the other
priest, exchanging a glance with his com

One of the garden gates opened, and one
of the three reverend fathers exclaimed, at
sight of the personage who now entered:
"Oh! here is his Eminence Cardinal Ma-
lipieri, coming to pay a visit to Father

"May this visit of his Eminence," said
the young priest, calmly, "be more profit-
able to Father Rodin than the last!"

Cardinal Malipieri was crossing the gar-
den, on his way to the apartment occupied
by Rodin.



The Wandering Jew, Vol. 4, p. 504.


Cardinal Malipieri, whom we saw assist-
ing at the sort of council held at the Prin-
cess de Saint-Dizier's, now on his way to
Rodin's apartment, was dressed as a lay-
man, but enveloped in an ample pelisse of
puce-colored satin, which exhaled a strong
odor of camphor, for the prelate had taken
care to surround himself with all sorts of
anti-cholera specifics. Having reached the
second story of the house, the cardinal
knocked at a little gray door. Nobody an-
swering, he opened it, and, like a man to
whom the locality was well known, passed
through a sort of antechamber, and en-
tered a room in which was a turn-up bed.
On a black wood table were many vials,
which had contained different medicines.
The prelate's countenance seemed uneasy
and morose; his complexion was still yel-
low and bilious; the brown circle which
surrounded his black, squinting eyes ap-
peared still darker than usual.

Pausing a moment, he looked round
him almost in fear, and several times
stopped to smell at his anti-cholera bottle.
Then, seeing he was alone, he approached
a glass over the chimney-piece, and ex-
amined with much attention the color of
his tongue; after some minutes spent in
this careful investigation, with the result


of which he appeared tolerably satisfied,
he took some preservative lozenges out of
a golden box, and allowed them to melt in
his mouth, while he closed his eyes with a
sanctified air. Having taken these sani-
tary precautions, and again pressed his
bottle to his nose, the prelate prepared to
enter the third room, when he heard a
tolerably loud noise through the thin par-
tition which separated him from it, and,
stopping to listen, all that was said in the
next apartment easily reached his ear.

"Now that my wounds are dressed, I
will get up," said a weak, but sharp and
imperious voice.

"Do not think of it, reverend father,"
was answered in a stronger tone,; "it is

"You shall see if it is impossible," re-
plied the other voice.

"But, reverend father, you will kill
yourself. You are not in a state to get
up. You will expose yourself to a mortal
relapse. I cannot consent to it."

To these words succeeded the noise of a '
faint struggle, mingled with groans more
angry than plaintive, and the voice re-
sumed: "No, no, father; for your own
safety, I will not leave your clothes within
your reach. It is almost time for your


medicine; I will go and prepare it for

Almost immediately after the door open-
ed, and the prelate saw enter a man of
about twenty-five years of age, carrying
on his arm an old olive greatcoat and
threadbare black trousers, which he threw
down upon a chair.

This personage was Ange Modeste Rous-
selet, chief pupil of Dr. Baleinier; the
countenance of the young practitioner was
mild, humble and reserved ; his hair, very
short in front, flowed down upon his neck
behind. He made a slight start in sur-
prise on perceiving the cardinal, and bowed
twice very low, without raising his eyes.

"Before any thing else," said the prelate,
with his marked Italian accent, still hold-
ing to his nose his bottle of camphor, "have
any choleraic symptoms returned?"

"No, my lord; the pernicious -fever,
which succeeded the attack of cholera,
still continues."

"Very good. But will not the reverend
father be reasonable? What was the noise
that I just heard?"

' ' His reverence wished absolutely to get
up and dress himself ; but his weakness is
so great that he could not have taken two
steps from the bed. He is devoured by


impatience, and we fear that this agitation
will cause a mortal relapse."

"Has Dr. Baleinier been here this morn-

"He has just left, my lord."

""What does he think of the patient?"

"He finds him in the most alarming
state, my lord. The night was so bad
that he was extremely uneasy this morn-
ing. Father Rodin is at one of those criti-
cal junctures, when a few hours may de-
cide the life or death of the patient. Dr.
Baleinier is now gone to fetch what is nec-
essary for a very painful operation, which
he is about to perform on the reverend

"Has Father d'Aigrigny been told of

"Father d'Aigrigny is himself very un-
well, as your eminence knows ; he has not
been able to leave his bed for the last three

"I inquired about him as I came up,"
answered the prelate, "and I shall see him
directly. But, to return to Father Rodin,
have you sent for his confessor, since he is
in a desperate state, and about to undergo
a serious operation?"

"Dr. Baleinier spoke a word to him
about it, as well as about the last sacra-


ments; but Father Rodin exclaimed, with
great irritation, that they did not leave
him a moment's peace, that he had as
much care as any one for his salvation,
and that "

"Per Bacco! I am not thinking. of him,"
cried the cardinal, interrupting Ange Mo-
deste Rousselet with his pagan oath, and
raising His sharp voice to a still higher
key; "I am not thinking of him, but of
the interests of the Company. It is indis-
pensable that ttie reverend father should
receive the sacraments with the most splen-
did solemnity, and that his end should not
only be Christian, but exemplary. All the
people in the house, and even strangers,
should be invited to the spectacle, so that
his edifying death may produce an excel-
lent sensation."

"That is what Fathers Grison and
Brunet have already endeavored to per-
suade his reverence, my lord; but your
Eminence knows with what impatience
Father Rodin received this advice, and Dr.
Baleinier did not venture to persist, for
fear of advancing a fatal crisis."

"Well, I will venture to do it; for in
these times of revolutionary impiety, a
solemnly Christian death would produce
a very salutary effect on the public. It


would indeed be proper to make the neces-
sary preparations to embalm the reverend
father; he might then He in state for some
days, with lighted tapers, according to
Romish custom. My secretary would fur-
nish the design for the bier; it would be
very splendid and imposing; from his po-
sition in the Order, Father Rodin is en-
titled to have everything in tne most
sumptuous style. He must have at least
six hundred tapers, and a dozen funeral
lamps, burning spirits of wine, to hang
just over the body and light it from above:
the effect would be excellent. We must
also distribute little tracts to the people,
concerning the pious and ascetic life of his
reverence ' '

Here a sudden noise, like that of some
piece of metal thrown angrily on the floor,
was heard from the next room, in which
was the sick man, and interrupted the prel-
ate in his description.

"I hope Father Rodin has not heard you
talk of embalming him, my lord," said
Rousselet, in a whisper; "his bed touches
the partition, and almost everything is
audible through it."

"If Father Rodin has heard me," an-
swered the cardinal, sinking his voice and
retiring to the other end of the room, "this


circumstance will enable me to enter at
once on the business ; but, in any case, I
persist in believing that the embalming
and the lying in state are required to make
a good effect upon the public. The people
are already frightened at the cholera, and

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