It is impossible to give an idea of the tone of almost sensual energy with which Rodin pronounced the word "amorous." Hardy started, changing from hot to cold.For the first time, his weakened mind caught a glimpse of the fatal pleasures of asceticism, and of that deplorable catalepsy, described in the lives of St.Theresa, St.Aubierge and others.
Rodin perceived the other's thoughts, and continued "Oh, Rancey was not now the man to content himself with a vague, passing prayer, uttered in the whirl of the world's business, which swallows it up, and prevents it from reaching the ear of heaven.No, no; in the depth of solitude, he endeavored to make his prayers even more efficacious, so ardently did he desire the eternal salvation of his mistress."
"What did he do then--oh! what did he do in his solitude?" cried Hardy, who was now powerless in the hands of the Jesuit.
"First of all," said Rodin, with a slight emphasis, "he became a monk."
"A monk!" repeated Hardy, with a pensive air.
"Yes," resumed Rodin, "he became a monk, because his prayers were thus more likely to be favorably accepted.And then, as in solitude our thoughts are apt to wander, he fasted, and mortified his flesh, and brought into subjection all that was carnal within him, so that, becoming all spirit, his prayers might issue like a pure flame from his bosom, and ascend like the perfume of incense to the throne of the Most High!"
"Oh! what a delicious dream!" cried Hardy, more and more under the influence of the spell; "to pray for the woman we have adored, and to become spirit--perfume--light!"
"Yes; spirit, perfume, light!" said Rodin, with emphasis."But it is no dream.How many monks, how many hermits, like Rancey, have, by prayers, and austerity, and macerations, attained a divine ecstasy! and if you only knew the celestial pleasures of such ecstasies!--Thus, after he became a monk, the terrible dreams were succeeded by enchanting visions.
Many times, after a day of fasting, and a night passed in prayers and macerations, Rancey sank down exhausted on the floor of his cell! Then the spirit freed itself from the vile clogs of matter.His senses were absorbed in pleasure; the sound of heavenly harmony struck upon his ravished car; a bright, mild light, which was not of this world, dawned upon his half-closed eyes; and, at the height of the melodious vibrations of the golden harps of the Seraphim, in the centre of a glory, compared to which the sun is pale, the monk beheld the image of that beloved woman--"
"Whom by his prayers he had at length rescued from the eternal flames?"
said Hardy, in a trembling voice.
"Yes, herself," replied Rodin, with eloquent enthusiasm, for this monster was skilled in every style of speech."Thanks to the prayers of her lover, which the Lord had granted, this woman no longer shed tears of blood--no longer writhed her beautiful arms in the convulsions of infernal anguish.No, no; still fair--oh! a thousand times fairer than when she dwelt on earth--fair with the everlasting beauty of angels--she smiled on her lover with ineffable ardor, and, her eyes beaming with a mild radiance, she said to him in a tender and passionate voice: `Glory to the Lord! glory to thee, O my beloved! Thy prayers and austerities have saved me.I am numbered amongst the chosen.Thanks, my beloved, and glory!'--And therewith, radiant in her felicity, she stooped to kiss, with lips fragrant with immortality, the lips of the enraptured monk--and their souls mingled in that kiss, burning as love, chaste as divine grace immense as eternity!"
"Oh!" cried Hardy, completely beside himself; "a whole life of prayer, fasting, torture, for such a moment--with her, whom I mourn--with her, whom I have perhaps led to perdition!"
"What do you say? such a moment!" cried Rodin, whose yellow forehead was bathed in sweat like that of a magnetizer, and who now took Hardy by the hand, and drew still closer, as if to breathe into him the burning delirium; "it was not once in his religious life--it was almost every day, that Rancey, plunged in divine ecstasy, enjoyed these delicious, ineffable, superhuman pleasures, which are to the pleasures of earth what eternity is to man's existence!"
Seeing, no doubt, that Hardy was now at the point to which he wished to bring him, and the night being almost entirely come, the reverend father coughed two or three times in a significant manner, and looked towards the door.At this moment, Hardy, in the height of his frenzy, exclaimed, with a supplicating voice: "A cell--a tomb--and the Ecstatic Vision!"
The door of the room opened, and Father d'Aigrigny entered, with a cloak under his arm.A servant followed him, bearing a light.
About ten minutes after this scene, a dozen robust men with frank, open countenances, led by Agricola, entered the Rue de Vaugirard, and advanced joyously towards the house of the reverend fathers.It was a deputation from the former workmen of M.Hardy.They came to escort him, and to congratulate him on his return amongst them.Agricola walked at their head.Suddenly he saw a carriage with post-horses issuing from the gateway of the house.The postilion whipped up the horses, and they started at full gallop.Was it chance or instinct? The nearer the carriage approached the group of which he formed a part, the more did Agricola's heart sink within him.
The impression became so vivid that it was soon changed into a terrible apprehension; and at the moment when the vehicle, which had its blinds down, was about to pass close by him, the smith, in obedience to a resistless impulse, exclaimed, as he rushed to the horses' heads: "Help, friends! stop them!"
"Postilion! ten louis if you ride over him!" cried from the carriage the military voice of Father d'Aigrigny.
The cholera was still raging.The postilion had heard of the murder of the poisoners.Already frightened at the sudden attack of Agricola, he struck him a heavy blow on the head with the butt of his whip which stretched him senseless on the ground.Then, spurring with all his might, he urged his three horses into a triple gallop, and the carriage rapidly disappeared, whilst Agricola's companions, who had neither understood his actions nor the sense of his words, crowded around the smith, and did their best to revive him.