THE JESUIT.
THIS is an extravagant romance after the old school : the incidents are violent, and the passions are all in the superlative degree—ex- treme, but at the same time lasting. For instance, it is quite in character with the rest of the book, that a man should work upon a plot of revenge for some twenty or thirty years, and turn all the courses of life into one channel,—namely, hate against a particular individual and his offspring. This man is of course the Jesuit; an incarnation of plotting, according to the popular notion entertained of that body. A Jesuit, and not a cold-blooded, cruel, plausible, insinuating, accomplished scoundrel, would be an utter inconsis- tency in the popular faith; as if, in entering any society, a man could cease to be such—or in putting on the robe of a Jesuit, he could put off the covering of humanity.
The talent of the author does not lie in sentiment, or in the development of character, but in dramatic turns, by which he sometimes produces a stirring effect upon the sensations of his reader. The scene in the Conciergerie during the French Revolution is of this character. The gaoler has permitted an interview with a prisoner, under the idea that it is authorized by the Commune : he discovers his mistake in the dungeon : the party, however, effec- tually prevent his informing against them, by a horrible punish- ment : he is himself thrown into the dungeon where his predecessor, the former gaoler, who had been driven mad by the injuries of this man, is pent up. The story is horrible, but still so well de- scribed as to raise it above a mere picture of vulgar horror. It runs thus—
The Baron and Sir Henry exchanged a hasty embrace, when the gaoler en- tered the dungeon : he looked suspiciously around ; the bustling important functionary once more arranged his cloak, and giving the signal of departure, was about to quit the dungeon, when the lynx-eyed Sournois espied upon the Found the certificate which Marie had unfortunately dropped : to seize and raise it to the light was the act of a moment ; he instantly became aware of its contents. " So," he exclaimed with a sarcastic smile, "the citizen procureur visits the prison of the Conciergerie at midnight, to celebrate the marriage of the avowed enemies of the people! I think I have something for the Commune to thank me for at last!"
Gaudet stood aghast ! In the confusion of the moment he offered bribes, pa- tronage, and increased the wretch's triumph by the display of his own terror.
" No, no," he replied, imitating the pompous manner of his superior when he first entered the dungeon, " this must be looked into—it shall be se; the Presi- dent will know how to reward my services." He advanced to the doer of the dungeon as he spoke, in order to summon the gendarme. Sir Henry inter- cepted him, and drawing a short dagger which he had concealed beneath his coat, threatened biro with immediate death if he gave the least alarm.
The Baron and Marie were in agony. " Hold," cried Gaudet, " do not kill him, do not shed his blood, I have a surer way to punish him and to escape ourselves. Where is the dungeon of Collinet?" he asked, addressing the now prostrate villain; "speak, or your time is short."
" The third in the passage to the left," was the forced surly answer. " 'Tis well," said his interrogator; " you shall share it with him ; you knout best what claim you have to his mercy." Goaded with horror at the idea, the villain struggled hard; they succeeded at last in binding him. Spite of his frantic entreaties for mercy, his promises of fidelity, they forced him from the cell, and conducted him to the one he had described. The pon- derous bars were hastily withdrawn, and the gaoler became an inmate of the same vaulted dungeon with his prisoner. Gaudet smiled, as he closed the door, with apparent satisfaction. " Who is this Colliuet ?" asked the Baronet, as they returned. " The former keeper of the prison," was the answer ; "a man of powerful
frame, and once of gentle heart. That wretch was his assistant : he first se- duced his wife, and then denounced him. The Commune have not yet decided on his fate. While in the custody of his former underling, he has been treated with the cruelty of a fiend ; his wife and her paramour frequently visiting him taunting him even in his prison, till at last reason forsook her throne. 1 think that by the morning Sournois will not be a dangerous informer."
" But the paper we have incautiously left with him may," answered Sir Henry, recollecting that they had in the confusion of the moment forgotten to deprive him of it.
deprive returned, for the purpose of securing it. A suppressed scream of pleas. sure broke on their ear as they reached the passage. The maniac; when the gaoler first entered the dungeon, beheld him in gloomy silence, thinking that he came but to inflict his usual cruelties; but when he found that he was really an inmate of the same dungeon, and, like himself, a prisoner, his delight knew no bounds. Repeated cruelties had extinguished the lamp of reason, and the ani- mal passions alone remained. The desire of revenge was paramount. Ere, however, he proceeded to violence, with that cunning which is so often the characteristic of insanity, with a sash which he unwound from the person of the gaoler, he made fast the door of the cell on the inner side. The cry which had startled Sir Henry on his return, was of ecstacy, at finding his victim com- pletely in his power. Deliberately lie seized him by the throat. The unhappy wretch being bound, could offir no resistance. " True, true !" at last cried Collinet ; " I have dreamt of this before—thirsted for it ! Ah, dost thou trem- ble ! 'tis my turn to play the tyrant now ! Plead, plead, Sournois, for life ' - let me hear the words of terror tremble on thy lip—behold the damp moist dew upon thy cheek—and laugh—and tell thee every prayer is vain—for thou shalt die. Oh, injury is sweet," he continued, "if it be thus atoned ! How the fiends will shout and yell for joy, as they stand around to catch thy parting soul —when they behold thy blackened face, thy bursting eyeball; ! I long to commence the sport."
" Mercy ! " frantically exclaimed the terrified wretch ; " I will release thee; unbind my arms; assist me to alarm the prison—I'll give thee gold, liberty!" " Is it then so ?" said the maniac mournfully. " Art thou but the sacrifice
of accident? and with the morning will thy power of inflicting tortures on the innocent return? No, no," he hastily continued ; " thou art mine ; given to me as the price of happiness, of freedom, wife, and child. This is just ; Hea- ven at last is just ; and I will tear thee like a lion in the lone wilderness—tram- ple on thy black heart, drink the hot blood—for thou art given to me." With these words, he seized the prostrate gaoler by the throat, who writhed like a monster in the hands of a giant. "Ha! roll on, roll on ; those eyes will soon be dim; their glance will wake no amorous passions now ; thy sneering lips are black—good ! dust thou feel me ? Now they change to red ; thy foul blood stains them ; and now it trickles down my firm-set hands. Do not die yet; hell must not rob me of a joy like this. Struggle, man, life must not fleet so soon; or have I grasped too closely ? There, a little air—ah ! his eye lightens yet. There, draw thy breath again—fool ! 'tis but to prolong thy torments."
Thus did the wretched man sport with his victim, like some beast of prey playing with its prize. At times he would release his grasp, recal the ebbing spirit back when on the verge of life, but to prolong the horrors of its exit. an At this moment Sir Henry d daudet reached the door of the cell; through the grating they beheld the desperate state to which their former conductor was reduced, and struggled for admittance. " Fiend !" said Sir Henry to his com- panion, horror-struck at the scene before him ; " was this your policy ? Bet- ter to have killed him on the spot, than to have exposed him to these horrors. Assist me to force the grating." " It is better as it is," coolly answered Gaudet; " our lives were at stake ;- self-preservation is nature's first impulse. The wretch richly deserves the film he has met with at the hands of you poor maniac ; yet, could we reach the cer- tificate of marriage, it might prevent the possibility of detection." Their faces caught the attention of the inmates of the dungeon. " Help, help ! " faintly exclaimed the dying Sournois.
The maniac started. " then I must be brief. Strumpet!" he fran- tically cried, thinking it was his wife at the grating; " behold your paramour :- breathe kisses on him now; and mock and spurn the wretch you-have betrayed. Ha! I am indeed revenged." With little apparent exertion he dragged the body to the door of the dungeon, and held the blackened countenance up to the light of the torch. Sir Henry struggled for admittance—the fastening of the door began to yield. " Ha!" shrieked the maniac, " they cone; and I shall be deprived of my prize, my victim." A convulsive movement agitated the countenance of the "dying man. " How ! live vou yet? This, then, to make sure." With a strong grasp he dashed the skull of Sournois against the rough stone pavement, and life was in an instant extinct. " Now then, come," he cried, holding his hands, smeared with the blood and brains, before the grating ; " come to the rescue—I am con- tent." With a yell of triumph, he rushed into the darkness of his cell; and his listeners fled from the spot.
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