The Wandering Jew, Complete

E >> Eugene Sue >> The Wandering Jew, Complete


"I did not dare insist on seeing the deformed workwoman this evening on
the subject of the Bacchanal Queen; I intend returning to-morrow, to
learn the effect of the letter she must have received this evening by the
post about the young blacksmith."

"Do not fail! And now you will call, for me, on Frances Baudoin's
confessor, late as it is; you will tell him that I am waiting for him at
Rue du Milieu des Ursins--he must not lose a moment. Do you come with
him. Should I not be returned, he will wait for me. You will tell him it
is on a matter of great moment."

"All shall be faithfully executed," said the ceremonious man, cringing to
Rodin, as the coach drove quickly away.




CHAPTER XXXI.

AGRICOLA AND MOTHER BUNCH.

Within one hour after the different scenes which have just been described
the most profound silence reigned in the soldier's humble dwelling. A
flickering light, which played through two panes of glass in a door,
betrayed that Mother Bunch had not yet gone to sleep; for her gloomy
recess, without air or light, was impenetrable to the rays of day, except
by this door, opening upon a narrow and obscure passage, connected with
the roof. A sorry bed, a table, an old portmanteau, and a chair, so
nearly filled this chilling abode, that two persons could not possibly be
seated within it, unless one of them sat upon the side of the bed.

The magnificent and precious flower that Agricola had given to the girl
was carefully stood up in a vessel of water, placed upon the table on a
linen cloth, diffusing its sweet odor around, and expanding its purple
calix in the very closet, whose plastered walls, gray and damp, were
feebly lighted by the rays of an attenuated candle. The sempstress, who
had taken off no part of her dress, was seated upon her bed--her looks
were downcast, and her eyes full of tears. She supported herself with one
hand resting on the bolster; and, inclining towards the door, listened
with painful eagerness, every instant hoping to hear the footsteps of
Agricola. The heart of the young sempstress beat violently; her face,
usually very pale, was now partially flushed--so exciting was the emotion
by which she was agitated. Sometimes she cast her eyes with terror upon a
letter which she held in her hand, a letter that had been delivered by
post in the course of the evening, and which had been placed by the
housekeeper (the dyer) upon the table, while she was rendering some
trivial domestic services during the recognitions of Dagobert and his
family.

After some seconds, Mother Bunch heard a door, very near her own, softly
opened.

"There he is at last!" she exclaimed, and Agricola immediately entered.

"I waited till my father went to sleep," said the blacksmith, in a low
voice, his physiognomy evincing much more curiosity than uneasiness. "But
what is the matter, my good sister? How your countenance is changed! You
weep! What has happened? About what danger would you speak to me?"

"Hush! Read this!" said she, her voice trembling with emotion, while she
hastily presented to him the open letter. Agricola held it towards the
light, and read what follows:

"A person who has reasons for concealing himself, but who knows the
sisterly interest you take in the welfare of Agricola Baudoin, warns you.
That young and worthy workman will probably be arrested in the course of
to-morrow."

"I!" exclaimed Agricola, looking at Mother Bunch with an air of stupefied
amazement. "What is the meaning of all this?"

"Read on!" quickly replied the sempstress, clasping her hands.

Agricola resumed reading, scarcely believing the evidence of his
eyes:-"The song, entitled 'Working-men Freed,' has been declared
libellous. Numerous copies of it have been found among the papers of a
secret society, the leaders of which are about to be incarcerated, as
being concerned in the Rue des Prouvaires conspiracy."

"Alas!" said the girl, melting into tears, "now I see it all. The man who
was lurking about below, this evening, who was observed by the dyer, was,
doubtless, a spy, lying in wait for you coming home."

"Nonsense!" exclaimed Agricola. "This accusation is quite ridiculous! Do
not torment yourself. I never trouble myself with politics. My verses
breathe nothing but philanthropy. Am I to blame, if they have been found
among the papers of a secret society?" Agricola disdainfully threw the
letter upon the table.

"Read! pray read!" said the other; "read on."

"If you wish it," said Agricola, "I will; no time is lost."

He resumed the reading of the letter:

"A warrant is about to be issued against Agricola Baudoin. There is mo
doubt of his innocence being sooner or later made clear; but it will be
well if he screen himself for a time as much as possible from pursuit, in
order that he may escape a confinement of two or three months previous to
trial--an imprisonment which would be a terrible blow for his mother,
whose sole support he is.

"A SINCERE FRIEND, who is compelled to remain unknown."

After a moment's silence, the blacksmith raised his head; his countenance
resumed its serenity; and laughing, he said: "Reassure yourself, good
Mother Bunch, these jokers have made a mistake by trying their games on
me. It is plainly an attempt at making an April-fool of me before the
time."

"Agricola, for the love of heaven!" said the girl, in a supplicating
tone; "treat not the warning thus lightly. Believe in my forebodings, and
listen to my advice."

"I tell you again, my good girl," replied Agricola, "that it is two
months since my song was published. It is not in any way political;
indeed, if it were, they would not have waited till now before coming
down on me."

"But," said the other, "you forget that new events have arisen. It is
scarcely two days since the conspiracy was discovered, in this very
neighborhood, in the Rue des Prouvaires. And," continued she, "if the
verses, though perhaps hitherto unnoticed, have now been found in the
possession of the persons apprehended for this conspiracy, nothing more
is necessary to compromise you in the plot."

"Compromise me!" said Agricola; "my verses! in which I only praise the
love of labor and of goodness! To arrest me for that! If so, justice
would be but a blind noodle. That she might grope her way, it would be
necessary to furnish her with a dog and a pilgrim's staff to guide her
steps."

"Agricola," resumed Mother Bunch; overwhelmed with anxiety and terror on
hearing the blacksmith jest at such a moment, "I conjure you to listen to
me! No doubt you uphold in the verses the sacred love of labor; but you
do also grievously deplore and deprecate the unjust lot of the poor
laborers, devoted as they are, without hope, to all the miseries of life;
you recommend, indeed, only fraternity among men; but your good and noble
heart vents its indignation, at the same time, against the selfish and
the wicked. In fine, you fervently hasten on, with the ardor of your
wishes, the emancipation of all the artisans who, less fortunate than
you, have not generous M. Hardy for employer. Say, Agricola, in these
times of trouble, is there anything more necessary to compromise you than
that numerous copies of your song have been found in possession of the
persons who have been apprehended?"

Agricola was moved by these affectionate and judicious expressions of an
excellent creature, who reasoned from her heart; and he began to view
with more seriousness the advice which she had given him.

Perceiving that she had shaken him, the sewing-girl went on to say: "And
then, bear your fellow-workman, Remi, in recollection."

"Remi!" said Agricola, anxiously.

"Yes," resumed the sempstress; "a letter of his, a letter in itself quite
insignificant, was found in the house of a person arrested last year for
conspiracy; and Remi, in consequence, remained a month in prison."

"That is true, but the injustice of his implication was easily shown, and
he was set at liberty."

"Yes, Agricola: but not till he had lain a month in prison; and that has
furnished the motive of the person who advised you to conceal yourself! A
month in prison! Good heavens! Agricola, think of that! and your mother."

These words made a powerful impression upon Agricola. He took up the
letter and again read it attentively.

"And the man who has been lurking all this evening about the house?"
proceeded she. "I constantly recall that circumstance, which cannot be
naturally accounted for. Alas! what a blow it would be for your father,
and poor mother, who is incapable of earning anything. Are you not now
their only resource? Oh! consider, then, what would become of them
without you--without your labor!"

"It would indeed be terrible," said Agricola, impatiently casting the
letter upon the table. "What you have said concerning Remi is too true.
He was as innocent as I am: yet an error of justice, an involuntary error
though it be, is not the less cruel. But they don't commit a man without
hearing him."

"But they arrest him first, and hear him afterwards," said Mother Bunch,
bitterly; "and then, after a month or two, they restore him his liberty.
And if he have a wife and children, whose only means of living is his
daily labor, what becomes of them while their only supporter is in
prison? They suffer hunger, they endure cold, and they weep!"

At these simple and pathetic words, Agricola trembled.

"A month without work," he said, with a sad and thoughtful air. "And my
mother, and father, and the two young ladies who make part of our family
until the arrival in Paris of their father, Marshal Simon. Oh! you are
right. That thought, in spite of myself, affrights me!"

"Agricola!" exclaimed the girl impetuously; "suppose you apply to M.
Hardy; he is so good, and his character is so much esteemed and honored,
that, if he offered bail for you, perhaps they would give up their
persecution?"

"Unfortunately," replied Agricola, "M. Hardy is absent; he is on a
journey with Marshal Simon."

After a silence of some time, Agricola, striving to surmount his fear,
added: "But no! I cannot give credence to this letter. After all, I had
rather await what may come. I'll at least have the chance of proving my
innocence on my first examination: for indeed, my good sister, whether it
be that I am in prison or that I fly to conceal myself, my working for my
family will be equally prevented."

"Alas! that is true," said the poor girl; "what is to be done! Oh, what
is to be done?"

"My brave father," said Agricola to himself, "if this misfortune happen
to-morrow, what an awakening it will be for him, who came here to sleep
so joyously!" The blacksmith buried his face in his hands.

Unhappily Mother Bunch's fears were too well-founded, for it will be
recollected that at that epoch of the year 1832, before and after the Rue
des Prouvaires conspiracy, a very great number of arrests had been made
among the working classes, in consequence of a violent reaction against
democratical ideas.

Suddenly, the girl broke the silence which had been maintained for some
seconds. A blush colored her features, which bore the impressions of an
indefinable expression of constraint, grief, and hope.

"Agricola, you are saved!"

"What say you?" he asked.

"The young lady, so beautiful, so good, who gave you this flower" (she
showed it to the blacksmith) "who has known how to make reparation with
so much delicacy for having made a painful offer, cannot but have a
generous heart. You must apply to her--"

With these words which seemed to be wrung from her by a violent effort
over herself, great tears rolled down her cheeks. For the first time in
her life she experienced a feeling of grievous jealousy. Another woman
was so happy as to have the power of coming to the relief of him whom she
idolized; while she herself, poor creature, was powerless and wretched.

"Do you think so?" exclaimed Agricola surprised. "But what could be done
with this young lady?"

"Did she not say to you," answered Mother Bunch, "'Remember my name; and
in all circumstances address yourself to me?'"

"She did indeed!" replied Agricola.

"This young lady, in her exalted position, ought to have powerful
connections who will be able to protect and defend you. Go to her to
morrow morning; tell her frankly what has happened, and request her
support."

"But tell me, my good sister, what it is you wish me to do?"

"Listen. I remember that, in former times, my father told us that he had
saved one of his friends from being put in prison, by becoming surety for
him. It will be easy for you so to convince this young lady of your
innocence, that she will be induced to become surety; and after that, you
will have nothing more to fear."

"My poor child!" said Agricola, "to ask so great a service from a person
to whom one is almost unknown is hard."

"Believe me, Agricola," said the other sadly, "I would never counsel what
could possibly lower you in the eyes of any one, and above all--do you
understand?--above all, in the eyes of this young lady. I do not propose
that you should ask money from her; but only that she should give surety
for you, in order that you may have the liberty of continuing at your
employment, so that the family may not be without resources. Believe me,
Agricola, that such a request is in no respect inconsistent with what is
noble and becoming upon your part. The heart of the young lady is
generous. She will comprehend your position. The required surety will be
as nothing to her; while to you it will be everything, and will even be
the very life to those who depend upon you."

"You are right, my good sister," said Agricola, with sadness and
dejection. "It is perhaps worth while to risk taking this step. If the
young lady consent to render me this service, and if giving surety will
indeed preserve me from prison, I shall be prepared for every event. But
no, no!" added he, rising, "I'd never dare to make the request to her!
What right have I to do so? What is the insignificant service that I
rendered her, when compared with that which I should solicit from her?"

"Do you imagine then, Agricola, that a generous spirit measures the
services which ought to be rendered, by those previously received? Trust
to me respecting a matter which is an affair of the heart. I am, it is
true, but a lowly creature, and ought not to compare myself with any
other person. I am nothing, and I can do nothing. Nevertheless, I am
sure--yes, Agricola, I am sure--that this young lady, who is so very far
above me, will experience the same feelings that I do in this affair;
yes, like me, she will at once comprehend that your position is a cruel
one; and she will do with joy, with happiness, with thankfulness, that
which I would do, if, alas! I could do anything more than uselessly
consume myself with regrets."

In spite of herself, she pronounced the last words with an expression so
heart-breaking--there was something so moving in the comparison which
this unfortunate creature, obscure and disdained, infirm and miserable,
made of herself with Adrienne de Cardoville, the very type of resplendent
youth, beauty, and opulence--that Agricola was moved even to tears; and,
holding out one of his hands to the speaker, he said to her, tenderly,
"How very good you are; how full of nobleness, good feeling, and
delicacy!"

"Unhappily," said the weeping girl, "I can do nothing more than advise."

"And your counsels shall be followed out, my sister dear. They are those
of a soul the most elevated I have ever known. Yes, you have won me over
into making this experiment, by persuading me that the heart of Miss de
Cardoville is perhaps equal in value to your own!"

At this charming and sincere assimilation of herself to Miss Adrienne,
the sempstress forgot almost everything she had suffered, so exquisitely
sweet and consoling were her emotions. If some poor creatures, fatally
devoted to sufferings, experience griefs of which the world knows naught,
they sometimes, too, are cheered by humble and timid joys, of which the
world is equally ignorant. The least word of true tenderness and
affection, which elevates them in their own estimation, is ineffably
blissful for these unfortunate beings, habitually consigned, not only to
hardships and to disdain, but even to desolating doubts, and distrust of
themselves.

"Then it is agreed that you will go, to-morrow morning to this young
lady's house?" exclaimed Mother Bunch, trembling with a new-born hope.
"And," she quickly added, "at break of day I'll go down to watch at the
street-door, to see if there be anything suspicious, and to apprise you
of what I perceive."

"Good, excellent girl!" exclaimed Agricola, with increasing emotion.

"It will be necessary to endeavor to set off before the wakening of your
father," said the hunchback. "The quarter in which the young lady dwells,
is so deserted, that the mere going there will almost serve for your
present concealment."

"I think I hear the voice of my father," said Agricola suddenly.

In truth, the little apartment was so near Agricola's garret, that he and
the sempstress, listening, heard Dagobert say in the dark:

"Agricola, is it thus that you sleep, my boy? Why, my first sleep is
over; and my tongue itches deucedly."

"Go quick, Agricola!" said Mother Bunch; "your absence would disquiet
him. On no account go out to-morrow morning, before I inform you whether
or not I shall have seen anything suspicious."

"Why, Agricola, you are not here?" resumed Dagobert, in a louder voice.

"Here I am, father," said the smith, while going out of the sempstress's
apartment, and entering the garret, to his father.

"I have been to fasten the shutter of a loft that the wind agitated, lest
its noise should disturb you."

"Thanks, my boy; but it is not noise that wakes me," said Dagobert,
gayly; "it is an appetite, quite furious, for a chat with you. Oh, my
dear boy, it is the hungering of a proud old man of a father, who has not
seen his son for eighteen years."

"Shall I light a candle, father?"

"No, no; that would be luxurious; let us chat in the dark. It will be a
new pleasure for me to see you to-morrow morning at daybreak. It will be
like seeing you for the first time twice." The door of Agricola's garret
being now closed, Mother Bunch heard nothing more.

The poor girl, without undressing, threw herself upon the bed, and closed
not an eye during the night, painfully awaiting the appearance of day, in
order that she might watch over the safety of Agricola. However, in spite
of her vivid anxieties for the morrow, she sometimes allowed herself to
sink into the reveries of a bitter melancholy. She compared the
conversation she had just had in the silence of night, with the man whom
she secretly adored, with what that conversation might have been, had she
possessed some share of charms and beauty--had she been loved as she
loved, with a chaste and devoted flame! But soon sinking into belief that
she should never know the ravishing sweets of a mutual passion, she found
consolation in the hope of being useful to Agricola. At the dawn of day,
she rose softly, and descended the staircase with little noise, in order
to see if anything menaced Agricola from without.




CHAPTER XXXII.

THE AWAKENING.

The weather, damp and foggy during a portion of the night, became clear
and cold towards morning. Through the glazed skylight of Agricola's
garret, where he lay with his father, a corner of the blue sky could be
seen.

The apartment of the young blacksmith had an aspect as poor as the
sewing-girl's. For its sole ornament, over the deal table upon which
Agricola wrote his poetical inspirations, there hung suspended from a
nail in the wall a portrait of Beranger--that immortal poet whom the
people revere and cherish, because his rare and transcendent genius has
delighted to enlighten the people, and to sing their glories and their
reverses.

Although the day had only begun to dawn, Dagobert and Agricola had
already risen. The latter had sufficient self command to conceal his
inquietude, for renewed reflection had again increased his fears.

The recent outbreak in the Rue des Prouvaires had caused a great number
of precautionary arrests; and the discovery of numerous copies of
Agricola's song, in the possession of one of the chiefs of the
disconcerted plot, was, in truth, calculated slightly to compromise the
young blacksmith. His father, however, as we have already mentioned,
suspected not his secret anguish. Seated by the side of his son, upon the
edge of their mean little bed, the old soldier, by break of day, had
dressed and shaved with military care; he now held between his hands both
those of Agricola, his countenance radiant with joy, and unable to
discontinue the contemplation of his boy.

"You will laugh at me, my dear boy," said Dagobert to his son; "but I
wished the night to the devil, in order that I might gaze upon you in
full day, as I now see you. But all in good time; I have lost nothing.
Here is another silliness of mine; it delights me to see you wear
moustaches. What a splendid horse-grenadier you would have made! Tell me;
have you never had a wish to be a soldier?"

"I thought of mother!"

"That's right," said Dagobert: "and besides, I believe, after all, look
ye, that the time of the sword has gone by. We old fellows are now good
for nothing, but to be put in a corner of the chimney. Like rusty old
carbines, we have had our day."

"Yes; your days of heroism and of glory," said Agricola with excitement;
and then he added, with a voice profoundly softened and agitated, "it is
something good and cheering to be your son!"

"As to the good, I know nothing of that," replied Dagobert; "but as for
the cheering, it ought to be so; for I love you proudly. And I think this
is but the beginning! What say you, Agricola? I am like the famished
wretches who have been some days without food. It is but by little and
little that they recover themselves, and can eat. Now, you may expect to
be tasted, my boy, morning and evening, and devoured during the day. No,
I wish not to think that--not all the day--no, that thought dazzles and
perplexes me; and I am no longer myself."

These words of Dagobert caused a painful feeling to Agricola. He believed
that they sprang from a presentiment of the separation with which he was
menaced.

"Well," continued Dagobert; "you are quite happy; M. Hardy is always good
to you."

"Oh!" replied Agricola: "there is none in the world better, or more
equitable and generous! If you knew what wonders he has brought about in
his factory! Compared to all others, it is a paradise beside the stithies
of Lucifer!"

"Indeed!" said Dagobert.

"You shall see," resumed Agricola, "what welfare, what joy, what
affection, are displayed upon the countenances of all whom he employs;
who work with an ardent pleasure.

"This M. Hardy of yours must be an out-and-out magician," said Dagobert.

"He is, father, a very great magician. He has known how to render labor
pleasant and attractive. As for the pleasure, over and above good wages,
he accords to us a portion of his profits according to our deserts;
whence you may judge of the eagerness with which we go to work. And that
is not all: he has caused large, handsome buildings to be erected, in
which all his workpeople find, at less expense than elsewhere, cheerful
and salubrious lodgings, in which they enjoy all the advantages of an
association. But you shall see--I repeat--you shall see!"

"They have good reason to say, that Paris is the region of wonders,"
observed Dagobert.

"Well, behold me here again at last, never more to quit you, nor good
mother!"

"No, father, we will never separate again," said Agricola, stifling a
sigh. "My mother and I will both try to make you forget all that you have
suffered."

"Suffered!" exclaimed Dagobert, "who the deuce has suffered? Look me well
in the face; and see if I have a look of suffering! Bombs and bayonets!
Since I have put my foot here, I feel myself quite a young man again! You
shall see me march soon: I bet that I tire you out! You must rig yourself
up something extra! Lord, how they will stare at us! I wager that in
beholding your black moustache and my gray one, folks will say, behold
father and son! But let us settle what we are to do with the day. You
will write to the father of Marshal Simon, informing him the his
grand-daughters have arrived, and that it is necessary that he should
hasten his return to Paris; for he has charged himself with matters which
are of great importance for them. While you are writing, I will go down
to say good-morning to my wife, and to the dear little ones. We will then
eat a morsel. Your mother will go to mass; for I perceive that she likes
to be regular at that: the good soul! no great harm, if it amuse her! and
during her absence, we will make a raid together."

"Father," said Agricola, with embarrassment, "this morning it is out of
my power to accompany you."

"How! out of your power?" said Dagobert; "recollect this is Monday!"

"Yes, father," said Agricola, hesitatingly; "but I have promised to
attend all the morning in the workshop, to finish a job that is required
in a hurry. If I fail to do so, I shall inflict some injury upon M.
Hardy. But I'll soon be at liberty."