The Wandering Jew, Book X.

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THE WANDERING JEW

By Eugene Sue



BOOK X.


XXXIII. Confessions
XXXIV. More Confessions
XXXV. The Rivals
XXXVI. The Interview
XXXVII. Soothing Words
XXXVIII. The Two Carriages
XXXIX. The Appointment
XL. Anxiety
XLI. Adrienne and Djalma
XLII. "The Imitation"
XLIII. Prayer
XLIV. Remembrances
XLV. The Blockhead
XLVI. The Anonymous Letters
XLVII. The Golden City
XLVIII. The Stung Lion
XLIX. The Test




CHAPTER XXXIII.

CONFESSIONS.

During the painful scene that we have just described, a lively emotion
glowed in the countenance of Mdlle. de Cardoville, grown pale and thin
with sorrow. Her cheeks, once so full, were now slightly hollowed, whilst
a faint line of transparent azure encircled those large black eyes, no
longer so bright as formerly. But the charming lips, though contracted by
painful anxiety, had retained their rich and velvet moisture. To attend
more easily to Mother Bunch, Adrienne had thrown aside her bonnet, and
the silky waves of her beautiful golden hair almost concealed her face as
she bent over the mattress, rubbing the thin, ivory hands of the poor
sempstress, completely called to life by the salubrious freshness of the
air, and by the strong action of the salts which Adrienne carried in her
smelling-bottle. Luckily, Mother Bunch had fainted, rather from emotion
and weakness than from the effects of suffocation, the senses of the
unfortunate girl having failed her before the deleterious gas had
attained its highest degree of intensity.

Before continuing the recital of the scene between the sempstress and the
patrician, a few retrospective words will be necessary. Since the strange
adventure at the theatre of the Porte-Saint-Martin, where Djalma, at
peril of his life, rushed upon the black panther in sight of Mdlle. de
Cardoville, the young lady had been deeply affected in various ways.
Forgetting her jealousy, and the humiliation she had suffered in presence
of Djalma--of Djalma exhibiting himself before every one with a woman so
little worthy of him--Adrienne was for a moment dazzled by the chivalrous
and heroic action of the prince, and said to herself: "In spite of odious
appearances, Djalma loves me enough to brave death in order to pick up my
nosegay."

But with a soul so delicate as that of this young lady, a character so
generous, and a mind so true, reflection was certain soon to demonstrate
the vanity of such consolations, powerless to cure the cruel wounds of
offended dignity an love.

"How many times," said Adrienne to herself, and with reason, "has the
prince encountered, in hunting, from pure caprice and with no gain, such
danger as he braved in picking up my bouquet! and then, who tells me he
did not mean to offer it to the woman who accompanied him?"

Singular (it may be) in the eyes of the world, but just and great in
those of heaven, the ideas which Adrienne cherished with regard to love,
joined to her natural pride, presented an invincible obstacle to the
thought of her succeeding this woman (whoever she might be), thus
publicly displayed by the prince as his mistress. And yet Adrienne hardly
dared avow to herself, that she experienced a feeling of jealousy, only
the more painful and humiliating, the less her rival appeared worthy to
be compared to her.

At other times, on the contrary, in spite of a conscious sense of her own
value, Mdlle. de Cardoville, remembering the charming countenance of
Rose-Pompon, asked herself if the bad taste and improper manners of this
pretty creature resulted from precocious and depraved effrontery, or from
a complete ignorance of the usages of society. In the latter case, such
ignorance, arising from a simple and ingenuous nature, might in itself
have a great charm; and if to this attraction, combined with that of
incontestable beauty, were added sincere love and a pure soul, the
obscure birth, or neglected education of the girl might be of little
consequence, and she might be capable of inspiring Djalma with a profound
passion. If Adrienne hesitated to see a lost creature in Rose-Pompon,
notwithstanding unfavorable appearances, it was because, remembering what
so many travellers had related of Djalma's greatness of soul, and
recalling the conversation she had overheard between him and Rodin, she
could not bring herself to believe that a man of such remarkable
intelligence, with so tender a heart, so poetical, imaginative and
enthusiastic a mind could be capable of loving a depraved and vulgar
creature, and of openly exhibiting himself in public along with her.
There was a mystery in the transaction, which Adrienne sought in vain to
penetrate. These trying doubts, this cruel curiosity, only served to
nourish Adrienne's fatal love; and we may imagine her incurable despair,
when she found that the indifference, or even disdain of Djalma, was
unable to stifle a passion that now burned more fiercely than ever.
Sometimes, having recourse to notions of fatality, she fancied that she
was destined to feel this love; that Djalma must therefore deserve it,
and that one day whatever was incomprehensible in the conduct of the
prince would be explained to his advantage. At other times, on the
contrary, she felt ashamed of excusing Djalma, and the consciousness of
this weakness was for Adrienne a constant occasion for remorse and
torture. The victim of all these agonies, she lived in perfect solitude.

The cholera soon broke out, startling as a clap of thunder. Too unhappy
to fear the pestilence on her own account, Adrienne was only moved by the
sorrows of others. She was amongst the first to contribute to those
charitable donations, which were now flowing in from all sides in the
admirable spirit of benevolence. Florine was suddenly attacked by the
epidemic. In spite of the danger, her mistress insisted on seeing her,
and endeavored to revive her failing courage. Conquered by this new mark
of kindness, Florine could no longer conceal the treachery in which she
had borne a part. Death was about to deliver her from the odious tyranny
of the people whose yoke weighed upon her, and she was at length in a
position to reveal everything to Adrienne. The latter thus learned how
she had been continually betrayed by Florine, and also the cause of the
sewing-girl's abrupt departure. At these revelations, Adrienne felt her
affection and tender pity for the poor sempstress greatly increase. By
her command, the most active steps were taken to discover traces of the
hunchback; but Florine's confession had a still more important result.
Justly alarmed at this new evidence of Rodin's machinations, Adrienne
remembered the projects formed, when, believing herself beloved, the
instinct of affection had revealed to her the perils to which Djalma and
other members of the Rennepont family were exposed. To assemble the race
around her, and bid them rally against the common enemy, such was
Adrienne's first thought, when she heard the confession of Florine. She
regarded it as a duty to accomplish this project. In a struggle with such
dangerous and powerful adversaries as Rodin, Father d'Aigrigny, and the
Princess de Saint-Dizier, and their allies, Adrienne saw not only the
praiseworthy and perilous task of unmasking hypocrisy and cupidity, but
also, if not a consolation, at least a generous diversion in the midst of
terrible sorrows.

From this moment, a restless, feverish activity took the place of the
mournful apathy in which the young lady had languished. She called round
her all the members of her family capable of answering the appeal, and,
as had been mentioned in the secret note delivered to Father d'Aigrigny,
Cardoville House soon became the centre of the most active and unceasing
operations, and also a place of meeting, in which the modes of attack and
defence were fully discussed. Perfectly correct in all points, the secret
note of which we have spoken stated, as a mere conjecture, that Mdlle. de
Cardoville had granted an interview to Djalma. This fact was untrue, but
the cause which led to the supposition will be explained hereafter. Far
from such being the case, Mdlle. de Cardoville scarcely found, in
attending to the great family interests now at stake, a momentary
diversion from the fatal love, which was slowly undermining her health,
and with which she so bitterly reproached herself.

The morning of the day on which Adrienne, at length discovering Mother
Bunch's residence, came so miraculously to rescue her from death,
Agricola Baudoin had been to Cardoville House to confer on the subject of
Francis Hardy, and had begged Adrienne to permit him to accompany her to
the Rue Clovis, whither they repaired in haste.

Thus, once again, there was a noble spectacle, a touching symbol! Mdlle.
de Cardoville and Mother Bunch, the two extremities of the social chain,
were united on equal terms--for the sempstress and the fair patrician
were equal in intelligence and heart--and equal also, because the one was
the ideal of riches, grace, and beauty, and the other the ideal of
resignation and unmerited misfortune--and does not a halo rest on
misfortune borne with courage and dignity? Stretched on her mattress, the
hunchback appeared so weak, that even if Agricola had not been detained
on the ground floor with Cephyse, now dying a dreadful death, Mdlle. de
Cardoville would have waited some time, before inducing Mother Bunch to
rise and accompany her to her carriage. Thanks to the presence of mind
and pious fraud of Adrienne, the sewing-girl was persuaded that Cephyse
had been carried to a neighboring hospital, to receive the necessary
succors, which promised to be crowned with success. The hunchback's
faculties recovering slowly from their stupor, she at first received this
fable without the least suspicion--for she did not even know that
Agricola had accompanied Mdlle. de Cardoville.

"And it is to you, lady, that Cephyse and I owe our lives," said she,
turning her mild and melancholy face towards Adrienne, "you, kneeling in
this garret, near this couch of misery, where I and my sister meant to
die--for you assure me, lady, that Cephyse was succored in time."

"Be satisfied! I was told just now that she was recovering her senses."

"And they told her I was living, did they not, lady? Otherwise, she would
perhaps regret having survived me."

"Be quite easy, my dear girl!" said Adrienne, pressing the poor hands in
her own, and gazing on her with eyes full of tears; "they have told her
all that was proper. Do not trouble yourself about anything; only think
of recovering--and I hope you will yet enjoy that happiness of which you
have known so little, my poor child."

"How kind you are, lady! After flying from your house--and when you must
think me so ungrateful!"

"Presently, when you are not so weak, I have a great deal to tell you.
Just now, it would fatigue you too much. But how do you feel?"

"Better, lady. This fresh air--and then the thought, that, since you are
come--my poor sister will no more be reduced to despair; for I will tell
you all, and I am sure you will have pity on Cephyse--will you not,
lady?"

"Rely upon me, my child," answered Adrienne, forced to dissemble her
painful embarrassment; "you know I am interested in all that interests
you. But tell me," added Mdlle. de Cardoville, in a voice of emotion,
"before taking this desperate resolution, did you not write to me?"

"Yes, lady."

"Alas!" resumed Adrienne, sorrowfully; "and when you received no
answer--how cruel, how ungrateful you must have thought me!"

"Oh! never, lady, did I accuse you of such feelings; my poor sister will
tell you so. You had my gratitude to the last."

"I believe you--for I knew your heart. But how then did you explain my
silence?"

"I had justly offended you by my sudden departure, lady."

"Offended!--Alas! I never received your letter."

"And yet you know that I wrote to you, lady."

"Yes, my poor girl; I know, also, that you wrote to me at my porter's
lodge. Unfortunately, he delivered your letter to one of my women, named
Florine, telling her it came from you."

"Florine! the young woman that was so kind to me!"

"Florine deceived me shamefully; she was sold to my enemies, and acted as
a spy on my actions."

"She!--Good Heavens!" cried Mother Bunch. "Is it possible?"

"She herself," answered Adrienne, bitterly; "but, after all, we must pity
as well as blame her. She was forced to obey by a terrible necessity, and
her confession and repentance secured my pardon before her death."

"Then she is dead--so young! so fair!"

"In spite of her faults, I was greatly moved by her end. She confessed
what she had done, with such heart-rending regrets. Amongst her avowals,
she told me she had intercepted a letter, in which you asked for an
interview that might save your sister's life."

"It is true, lady; such were the terms of my letter. What interest had
they to keep it from you?"

"They feared to see you return to me, my good guardian angel. You loved
me so tenderly, and my enemies dreaded your faithful affection, so
wonderfully aided by the admirable instinct of your heart. Ah! I shall
never forget how well-deserved was the horror with which you were
inspired by a wretch whom I defended against your suspicions."

"M. Rodin?" said Mother Bunch, with a shudder.

"Yes," replied Adrienne; "but we will not talk of these people now. Their
odious remembrance would spoil the joy I feel in seeing you restored to
life--for your voice is less feeble, your cheeks are beginning to regain
a little color. Thank God! I am so happy to have found you once more;--if
you knew all that I hope, all that I expect from our reunion--for we will
not part again--promise me that, in the name of our friendship."

"I--your friend!" said Mother Bunch, timidly casting down her eyes.

"A few days before your departure from my house, did I not call you my
friend, my sister? What is there changed? Nothing, nothing," added Mdlle.
de Cardoville, with deep emotion. "One might say, on the contrary, that a
fatal resemblance in our positions renders your friendship even dearer to
me. And I shall have it, shall I not. Oh, do not refuse it me--I am so
much in want of a friend!"

"You, lady? you in want of the friendship of a poor creature like me?"

"Yes," answered Adrienne, as she gazed on the other with an expression of
intense grief; "nay, more, you are perhaps the only person, to whom I
could venture to confide my bitter sorrows." So saying, Mdlle. de
Cardoville colored deeply.

"And how do I deserve such marks of confidence?" asked Mother Bunch, more
and more surprised.

"You deserve it by the delicacy of your heart, by the steadiness of your
character," answered Adrienne, with some hesitation; "then--you are a
woman--and I am certain you will understand what I suffer, and pity me."

"Pity you, lady?" said the other, whose astonishment continued to
increase. "You, a great lady, and so much envied--I, so humble and
despised, pity you?"

"Tell me, my poor friend," resumed Adrienne, after some moments of
silence, "are not the worst griefs those which we dare not avow to any
one, for fear of raillery and contempt? How can we venture to ask
interest or pity, for sufferings that we hardly dare avow to ourselves,
because they make us blush?"

The sewing-girl could hardly believe what she heard. Had her benefactress
felt, like her, the effects of an unfortunate passion, she could not have
held any other language. But the sempstress could not admit such a
supposition; so, attributing to some other cause the sorrows of Adrienne,
she answered mournfully, whilst she thought of her own fatal love for
Agricola, "Oh! yes, lady. A secret grief, of which we are ashamed, must
be frightful--very frightful!"

"But then what happiness to meet, not only a heart noble enough to
inspire complete confidence, but one which has itself been tried by a
thousand sorrows, and is capable of affording you pity, support and
counsel!--Tell me, my dear child," added Mdlle. de Cardoville, as she
looked attentively at Mother Bunch, "if you were weighed down by one of
those sorrows, at which one blushes, would you not be happy, very happy,
to find a kindred soul, to whom you might entrust your griefs, and half
relieve them by entire and merited confidence?"

For the first time in her life, Mother Bunch regarded Mdlle. de
Cardoville with a feeling of suspicion and sadness.

The last words of the young lady seemed to her full of meaning
"Doubtless, she knows my secret," said Mother Bunch to herself;
"doubtless, my journal has fallen into her hands.--She knows my love for
Agricola, or at least suspects it. What she has been saying to me is
intended to provoke my confidence, and to assure herself if she has been
rightly informed."

These thoughts excited in the workgirl's mind no bitter or ungrateful
feeling towards her benefactress; but the heart of the unfortunate girl
was so delicately susceptible on the subject of her fatal passion, that,
in spite of her deep and tender affection for Mdlle. de Cardoville, she
suffered cruelly at the thought of Adrienne's being mistress of her
secret.




CHAPTER XXXIV.

MORE CONFESSIONS.

The fancy, at first so painful, that Mdlle. de Cardoville was informed of
her love for Agricola was soon exchanged in the hunchbacks heart, thanks
to the generous instincts of that rare and excellent creature, for a
touching regret, which showed all her attachment and veneration for
Adrienne.

"Perhaps," said Mother Bunch to herself, "conquered by the influence of
the adorable kindness of my protectress, I might have made to her a
confession which I could make to none other, and revealed a secret which
I thought to carry with me to my grave. It would, at least, have been a
mark of gratitude to Mdlle. de Cardoville; but, unfortunately, I am now
deprived of the sad comfort of confiding my only secret to my
benefactress. And then--however generous may be her pity for me, however
intelligent her affection, she cannot--she, that is so fair and so much
admired--she cannot understand how frightful is the position of a
creature like myself, hiding in the depth of a wounded heart, a love at
once hopeless and ridiculous. No, no--in spite of the delicacy of her
attachment, my benefactress must unconsciously hurt my feelings, even
whilst she pities me--for only sympathetic sorrows can console each
other. Alas! why did she not leave me to die?"

These reflections presented themselves to the thinker's mind as rapidly
as thought could travel. Adrienne observed her attentively; she remarked
that the sewing-girl's countenance, which had lately brightened up, was
again clouded, and expressed a feeling of painful humiliation. Terrified
at this relapse into gloomy dejection, the consequences of which might be
serious, for Mother Bunch was still very weak, and, as it were, hovering
on the brink of the grave, Mdlle. de Cardoville resumed hastily: "My
friend, do not you think with me, that the most cruel and humiliating
grief admits of consolation, when it can be entrusted to a faithful and
devoted heart?"

"Yes, lady," said the young sempstress, bitterly; "but the heart which
suffers in silence, should be the only judge of the moment for making so
painful a confession. Until then, it would perhaps be more humane to
respect its fatal secret, even if one had by chance discovered it."

"You are right, my child," said Adrienne, sorrowfully, "if I choose this
solemn moment to entrust you with a very painful secret, it is that, when
you have heard me, I am sure you will set more value on your life, as
knowing how much I need your tenderness, consolation, and pity."

At these words, the other half raised herself on the mattress, and looked
at Mdlle. de Cardoville in amazement. She could scarcely believe what she
heard; far from designing to intrude upon her confidence, it was her
protectress who was to make the painful confession, and who came to
implore pity and consolation from her!

"What!" stammered she; "you, lady!"

"I come to tell you that I suffer, and am ashamed of my sufferings. Yes,"
added the young lady, with a touching expression, "yes--of all
confessions, I am about to make the most painful--I love--and I blush for
my love."

"Like myself!" cried Mother Bunch, involuntarily, clasping her hands
together.

"I love," resumed Adrienne, with a long-pent-up grief; "I love, and am
not beloved--and my love is miserable, is impossible--it consumes me--it
kills me--and I dare not confide to any one the fatal secret!"

"Like me," repeated the other, with a fixed look. "She--a queen in
beauty, rank, wealth, intelligence--suffers like me. Like me, poor
unfortunate creature! she loves, and is not loved again."

"Well, yes! like you, I love and am not loved again," cried Mdlle. de
Cardoville; "was I wrong in saying, that to you alone I could confide my
secret--because, having suffered the same pangs, you alone can pity
them?"

"Then, lady," said Mother Bunch, casting down her eyes, and recovering
from her first amazement, "you knew--"

"I knew all, my poor child--but never should I have mentioned your
secret, had I not had one to entrust you with, of a still more painful
nature. Yours is cruel, but mine is humiliating. Oh, my sister!" added
Mdlle. de Cardoville, in a tone impossible to describe, "misfortune, you,
see, blends and confounds together what are called distinctions of rank
and fortune--and often those whom the world envies are reduced by
suffering far below the poorest and most humble, and have to seek from
the latter pity and consolation."

Then, drying her tears, which nosy flowed abundantly, Mdlle. de
Cardoville resumed, in a voice of emotion: "Come, sister! courage,
courage! let us love and sustain each other. Let this sad and mysterious
bond unite us forever."

"Oh, lady! forgive me. But now that you know the secret of my life," said
the workgirl, casting down her eyes, and unable to vanquish her
confusion, "it seems to me, that I can never look at you without
blushing."

"And why? because you love Agricola?" said Adrienne. "Then I must die of
shame before you, since, less courageous than you, I had not the strength
to suffer and be resigned, and so conceal my love in the depths of my
heart. He that I love, with a love henceforth deprived of hope, knew of
that love and despised it--preferring to me a woman, the very choice of
whom was a new and grievous insult, if I am not much deceived by
appearances. I sometimes hope that I am deceived on this point. Now tell
me--is it for you to blush?"

"Alas, lady! who could tell you all this?"

"Which you only entrusted to your journal? Well, then--it was the dying
Florine who confessed her misdeeds. She had been base enough to steal
your papers, forced to this odious act, by the people who had dominion
over her. But she had read your journal--and as every good feeling was
not dead within her, your admirable resignation, your melancholy and
pious love, had left such an impression on her mind, that she was able to
repeat whole passages to me on her death bed, and thus to explain the
cause of your sudden disappearance--for she had no doubt that the fear of
seeing your love for Agricola divulged had been the cause of your
flight."

"Alas! it is but too true, lady."

"Oh, yes!" answered Adrienne, bitterly; "those who employed the wretched
girl to act as she did, well knew the effect of the blow. It was not
their first attempt. They reduced you to despair, they would have killed
you, because you were devoted to me, and because you had guessed their
intentions. Oh! these black-gowns are implacable, and their power is
great!" said Adrienne, shuddering.

"It is fearful, lady."

"But do not be alarmed, dear child; you see, that the arms of the wicked
have turned against themselves; for the moment I knew the cause of your
flight, you became dearer to me than ever. From that time I made every
exertion to find out where you were; after long efforts, it was only this
morning that the person I had employed succeeded in discovering that you
inhabited this house. Agricola was with me when I heard it, and instantly
asked to accompany me."

"Agricola!" said Mother Bunch, clasping her hands; "he came--"

"Yes, my child--be calm. Whilst I attended to you, he was busy with your
poor sister. You will soon see him."

"Alas, lady!" resumed the hunchback, in alarm. "He doubtless knows--"

"Your love! No, no; be satisfied. Only think of the happiness of again
seeing your good and worthy brother."

"Ah, lady! may he never know what caused me so much shame, that I was
like to die of it. Thank God, he is not aware of it!"

"Then let us have no more sad thoughts, my child. Only remember, that
this worthy brother came here in time to save us from everlasting
regrets--and you from a great fault. Oh! I do not speak of the prejudices
of the world, with regard to the right of every creature to return to
heaven a life that has become too burdensome!--I only say that you ought
not to have died, because those who love you, and whom you love, were
still in need of your assistance."