The Wandering Jew, Complete

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


Seeing Agricola's hesitation, who again cast down his eyes with
embarrassment, Adrienne, to encourage him, showed him Frisky, and said to
him gayly: "This poor little animal, to which I am very much attached,
will always afford me a lively remembrance of your obliging complaisance,
sir. And this visit seems to me to be of happy augury; I know not what
good presentiment whispers to me, that perhaps I shall have the pleasure
of being useful to you in some affair."

"Madame," said Agricola, resolutely, "my name is Baudoin: a blacksmith in
the employment of M. Hardy, at Pressy, near the city. Yesterday you
offered me your purse and I refused it: to-day, I have come to request of
you perhaps ten or twenty times the sum that you had generously proposed.
I have said thus much all at once, madame, because it causes me the
greatest effort. The words blistered my lips, but now I shall be more at
ease."

"I appreciate the delicacy of your scruples, sir," said Adrienne; "but if
you knew me, you would address me without fear. How much do you require?"

"I do not know, madame," answered Agricola.

"I beg your pardon. You don't know what sum?"

"No madame; and I come to you to request, not only the sum necessary to
me, but also information as to what that sum is."

"Let us see, sir," said Adrienne, smiling, "explain this to me. In spite
of my good will, you feel that I cannot divine, all at once, what it is
that is required."

"Madame, in two words, I can state the truth. I have a food old mother,
who in her youth, broke her health by excessive labor, to enable her to
bring me up; and not only me, but a poor abandoned child whom she had
picked up. It is my turn now to maintain her; and that I have the
happiness of doing. But in order to do so, I have only my labor. If I am
dragged from my employment, my mother will be without support."

"Your mother cannot want for anything now, sir, since I interest myself
for her."

"You will interest yourself for her, madame?" said Agricola.

"Certainly," replied Adrienne.

"But you don't know her," exclaimed the blacksmith.

"Now I do; yes."

"Oh, madame!" said Agricola, with emotion, after a moment's silence. "I
understand you. But indeed you have a noble heart. Mother Bunch was
right."

"Mother Bunch?" said Adrienne, looking at Agricola with a very surprised
air; for what he said to her was an enigma.

The blacksmith, who blushed not for his friends, replied frankly.

"Madame, permit me to explain, to you. Mother Bunch is a poor and very
industrious young workwoman, with whom I have been brought up. She is
deformed, which is the reason why she is called Mother Bunch. But though,
on the one hand, she is sunk, as low as you are highly elevated on the
other, yet as regards the heart--as to delicacy--oh, lady, I am certain
that your heart is of equal worth with hers! That was at once her own
thought, after I had related to her in what manner, yesterday, you had
presented me with that beautiful flower."

"I can assure you, sir," said Adrienne, sincerely touched, "that this
comparison flatters and honors me more than anything else that you could
say to me,--a heart that remains good and delicate, in spite of cruel
misfortunes, is so rare a treasure; while it is very easy to be good,
when we have youth and beauty, and to be delicate and generous, when we
are rich. I accept, then, your comparison; but on condition that you will
quickly put me in a situation to deserve it. Pray go on, therefore."

In spite of the gracious cordiality of Miss de Cardoville, there was
always observable in her so much of that natural dignity which arises
from independence of character, so much elevation of soul and nobleness
of sentiment that Agricola, forgetting the ideal physical beauty of his
protectress, rather experienced for her the emotions of an affectionate
and kindly, though profound respect, which offered a singular and
striking contrast with the youth and gayety of the lovely being who
inspired him with this sentiment.

"If my mother alone, madame, were exposed to the rigor which I dread. I
should not be so greatly disquieted with the fear of a compulsory
suspension of my employment. Among poor people, the poor help one
another; and my mother is worshipped by all the inmates of our house, our
excellent neighbors, who would willingly succor her. But, they themselves
are far from being well off; and as they would incur privations by
assisting her, their little benefit would still be more painful to my
mother than the endurance even of misery by herself. And besides, it is
not only for my mother that my exertions are required, but for my father,
whom we have not seen for eighteen years, and who has just arrived from
Siberia, where he remained during all that time, from zealous devotion to
his former general, now Marshal Simon."

"Marshal Simon!" said Adrienne, quickly, with an expression of much
surprise.

"Do you know the marshal, madame?"

"I do not personally know him, but he married a lady of our family."

"What joy!" exclaimed the blacksmith, "then the two young ladies, his
daughters, whom my father has brought from Russia, are your relations!"

"Has Marshal Simon two daughters?" asked Adrienne, more and more
astonished and interested.

"Yes, madame, two little angels of fifteen or sixteen, and so pretty, so
sweet; they are twins so very much alike, as to be mistaken for one
another. Their mother died in exile; and the little she possessed having
been confiscated, they have come hither with my father, from the depths
of Siberia, travelling very wretchedly; but he tried to make them forget
so many privations by the fervency of his devotion and his tenderness. My
excellent father! you will not believe, madame, that, with the courage of
a lion, he has all the love and tenderness of a mother."

"And where are the dear children, sir?" asked Adrienne.

"At our home, madame. It is that which renders my position so very hard;
that which has given me courage to come to you; it is not but that my
labor would be sufficient for our little household, even thus augmented;
but that I am about to be arrested."

"About to be arrested? For what?"

"Pray, madame, have the goodness to read this letter, which has been sent
by some one to Mother Bunch."

Agricola gave to Miss de Cardoville the anonymous letter which had been
received by the workwoman.

After having read the letter, Adrienne said to the blacksmith, with
surprise, "It appears, sir, you are a poet!"

"I have neither the ambition nor the pretension to be one, madame. Only,
when I return to my mother after a day's toil, and often, even while
forging my iron, in order to divert and relax my attention, I amuse
myself with rhymes, sometimes composing an ode, sometimes a song."

"And your song of the Freed Workman, which is mentioned in this letter,
is, therefore, very disaffected--very dangerous?"

"Oh, no, madame; quite the contrary. For myself, I have the good fortune
to be employed in the factory of M. Hardy, who renders the condition of
his workpeople as happy as that of their less fortunate comrades is the
reverse; and I had limited myself to attempt, in favor of the great mass
of the working classes, an equitable, sincere, warm, and earnest
claim--nothing more. But you are aware, perhaps, Madame, that in times of
conspiracy, and commotion, people are often incriminated and imprisoned
on very slight grounds. Should such a misfortune befall me, what will
become of my mother, my father, and the two orphans whom we are bound to
regard as part of our family until the return of their father, Marshal
Simon? It is on this account, madame, that, if I remain, I run the risk
of being arrested. I have come to you to request you to provide surety
for me; so that I should not be compelled to exchange the workshop for
the prison, in which case I can answer for it that the fruits of my labor
will suffice for all."

"Thank the stars!" said Adrienne, gayly, "this affair will arrange itself
quite easily. Henceforth, Mr. Poet, you shall draw your inspirations in
the midst of good fortune instead of adversity. Sad muse! But first of
all, bonds shall be given for you."

"Oh, madame, you have saved us!"

"To continue," said Adrienne, "the physician of our family is intimately
connected with a very important minister (understand that, as you like,"
said she, smiling, "you will not deceive yourself much). The doctor
exercises very great influence over this great statesman; for he has
always had the happiness of recommending to him, on account of his
health; the sweets and repose of private life, to the very eve of the day
on which his portfolio was taken from him. Keep yourself, then, perfectly
at ease. If the surety be insufficient, we shall be able to devise some
other means.

"Madame," said Agricola, with great emotion, "I am indebted to you for
the repose, perhaps for the life of my mother. Believe that I shall ever
be grateful."

"That is all quite simple. Now for another thing. It is proper that those
who have too much should have the right of coming to the aid of those who
have too little. Marshal Simon's daughters are members of my family, and
they will reside here with me, which will be more suitable. You will
apprise your worthy mother of this; and in the evening, besides going to
thank her for the hospitality which she has shown to my young relations,
I shall fetch them home."

At this moment Georgette, throwing open the door which separated the room
from an adjacent apartment, hurriedly entered, with an affrighted look,
exclaiming:

"Oh, madame, something extraordinary is going on in the street."

"How so? Explain yourself," said Adrienne.

"I went to conduct my dressmaker to the little garden-gate," said
Georgette; "where I saw some ill-looking men, attentively examining the
walls and windows of the little out-building belonging to the pavilion,
as if they wished to spy out some one."

"Madame," said Agricola, with chagrin, "I have not been deceived. They
are after me."

"What say you?"

"I thought I was followed, from the moment when I left the Rue St. Merry:
and now it is beyond doubt. They must have seen me enter your house; and
are on the watch to arrest me. Well, now that your interest has been
acquired for my mother,--now that I have no farther uneasiness for
Marshal Simon's daughters,--rather than hazard your exposure to anything
the least unpleasant, I run to deliver myself up."

"Beware of that sir," said Adrienne, quickly. "Liberty is too precious to
be voluntarily sacrificed. Besides, Georgette may have been mistaken. But
in any case, I entreat you not to surrender yourself. Take my advice, and
escape being arrested. That, I think, will greatly facilitate my
measures; for I am of opinion that justice evinces a great desire to keep
possession of those upon whom she has once pounced."

"Madame," said Hebe, now also entering with a terrified look, "a man
knocked at the little door, and inquired if a young man in a blue blouse
has not entered here. He added, that the person whom he seeks is named
Agricola Baudoin, and that he has something to tell him of great
importance."

"That's my name," said Agricola; "but the important information is a
trick to draw me out."

"Evidently," said Adrienne; "and therefore we must play off trick for
trick. What did you answer, child?" added she, addressing herself to
Hebe.

"I answered, that I didn't know what he was talking about."

"Quite right," said Adrienne: "and the man who put the question?"

"He went away, madame."

"Without doubt to come back again, soon," said Agricola.

"That is very probable," said Adrienne, "and therefore, sir, it is
necessary for you to remain here some hours with resignation. I am
unfortunately obliged to go immediately to the Princess Saint-Dizier, my
aunt, for an important interview, which can no longer be delayed, and is
rendered more pressing still by what you have told me concerning the
daughters of Marshal Simon. Remain here, then, sir; since if you go out,
you will certainly be arrested."

"Madame, pardon my refusal; but I must say once more that I ought not to
accept this generous offer."

"Why?"

"They have tried to draw me out, in order to avoid penetrating with the
power of the law into your dwelling but if I go not out, they will come
in; and never will I expose you to anything so disagreeable. Now that I
am no longer uneasy about my mother, what signifies prison?"

"And the grief that your mother will feel, her uneasiness, and her
fears,--nothing? Think of your father; and that poor work-woman who loves
you as a brother, and whom I value as a sister;--say, sir, do you forget
them also? Believe me, it is better to spare those torments to your
family. Remain here; and before the evening I am certain, either by
giving surety, or some other means, of delivering you from these
annoyances."

"But, madame, supposing that I do accept your generous offer, they will
come and find me here."

"Not at all. There is in this pavilion, which was formerly the abode of a
nobleman's left-handed wife,--you see, sir," said Adrienne, smiling,
"that live in a very profane place--there is here a secret place of
concealment, so wonderfully well-contrived, that it can defy all
searches. Georgette will conduct you to it. You will be very well
accommodated. You will even be able to write some verses for me, if the
place inspire you."

"Oh, madame! how great is your goodness! how have I merited it?"

"Oh, sir, I will tell you. Admitting that your character and your
position do not entitle you to any interest;--admitting that I may not
owe a sacred debt to your father for the touching regards and cares he
has bestowed upon the daughters of Marshal Simon, my relations--do you
forget Frisky, sir?" asked Adrienne, laughing,--"Frisky, there, whom you
have restored to my fondles? Seriously, if I laugh," continued this
singular and extravagant creature, "it is because I know that you are
entirely out of danger, and that I feel an increase of happiness.
Therefore, sir, write for me quickly your address, and your mother's, in
this pocket-book; follow Georgette; and spin me some pretty verses, if
you do not bore yourself too much in that prison to which you fly."

While Georgette conducted the blacksmith to the hiding-place, Hebe
brought her mistress a small gray beaver hat with a gray feather; for
Adrienne had to cross the park to reach the house occupied by the
Princess Saint-Dizier.

A quarter of an hour after this scene, Florine entered mysteriously the
apartment of Mrs. Grivois, the first woman of the princess.

"Well?" demanded Mrs. Grivois of the young woman.

"Here are the notes which I have taken this morning," said Florine,
putting a paper into the duenna's hand. "Happily, I have a good memory."

"At what time exactly did she return home this morning?" asked the
duenna, quickly.

"Who, madame?"

"Miss Adrienne."

"She did not go out, madame. We put her in the bath at nine o'clock."

"But before nine o'clock she came home, after having passed the night out
of her house. Eight o'clock was the time at which she returned, however."

Florine looked at Mrs. Grivois with profound astonishment, and said-"I do
not understand you, madame."

"What's that? Madame did not come home this morning at eight o'clock?
Dare you lie?"

"I was ill yesterday, and did not come down till nine this morning, in
order to assist Georgette and Hebe help our young lady from the bath. I
know nothing of what passed previously, I swear to you, madame."

"That alters the case. You must ferret out what I allude to from your
companions. They don't distrust you, and will tell you all."

"Yes, madame."

"What has your mistress done this morning since you saw her?"

"Madame dictated a letter to Georgette for M. Norval, I requested
permission to send it off, as a pretext for going out, and for writing
down all I recollected."

"Very well. And this letter?"

"Jerome had to go out, and I gave it him to put in the post-office."

"Idiot!" exclaimed Mrs. Grivois: "couldn't you bring it to me?"

"But, as madame dictated it aloud to Georgette, as is her custom, I knew
the contents of the letter; and I have written it in my notes."

"That's not the same thing. It is likely there was need to delay sending
off this letter; the princess will be very much displeased."

"I thought I did right, madame."

"I know that it is not good will that fails you. For these six months I
have been satisfied with you. But this time you have committed a very
great mistake."

"Be indulgent, madame! what I do is sufficiently painful!" The girl
stifled a sigh.

Mrs. Grivois looked fixedly at her, and said in a sardonic tone:

"Very well, my dear, do not continue it. If you have scruples, you are
free. Go your way."

"You well know that I am not free, madame," said Florine, reddening; and
with tears in her eyes she added: "I am dependent upon M. Rodin, who
placed me here."

"Wherefore these regrets, then?"

"In spite of one's self, one feels remorse. Madame is so good, and so
confiding."

"She is all perfection, certainly! But you are not here to sing her
praises. What occurred afterwards?"

"The working-man who yesterday found and brought back Frisky, came early
this morning and requested permission to speak with my young lady."

"And is this working-man still in her house?"

"I don't know. He came in when I was going out with the letter."

"You must contrive to learn what it was this workingman came about."

"Yes, madame."

"Has your mistress seemed preoccupied, uneasy, or afraid of the interview
which she is to have to-day with the princess? She conceals so little of
what she thinks, that you ought to know."

"She has been as gay as usual. She has even jested about the interview!"

"Oh! jested, has she?" said the tire-woman, muttering between her teeth,
without Florine being able to hear her: "'They laugh most who laugh
last.' In spite of her audacious and diabolical character, she would
tremble, and would pray for mercy, if she knew what awaits her this day."
Then addressing Florine, she continued-"Return, and keep yourself, I
advise you, from those fine scruples, which will be quite enough to do
you a bad turn. Do not forget!"

"I cannot forget that I belong not to myself, madame."

"Anyway, let it be so. Farewell."

Florine quitted the mansion and crossed the park to regain the summer
house, while Mrs Grivois went immediately to the Princess Saint-Dizier.






THE WANDERING JEW

By Eugene Sue



BOOK III.


XXXVI. A Female Jesuit
XXXVII. The Plot
XXXVIII. Adrienne's Enemies
XXXIX. The Skirmish
XL. The Revolt
XLI. Treachery
XLII. The Snare
XLIII. A False Friend
XLIV. The Minister's Cabinet
XLV. The Visit
XLVI. Presentiments
XLVII. The Letter
XLVIII. The Confessional
XLIX. My Lord and Spoil-sport
L. Appearances
LI. The Convent
LII. The Influence of a Confessor
LIII. The Examination




CHAPTER XXXVI.

A FEMALE JESUIT.

During the preceding scenes which occurred in the Pompadour rotunda,
occupied by Miss de Cardoville, other events took place in the residence
of the Princess Saint-Dizier. The elegance and sumptuousness of the
former dwelling presented a strong contrast to the gloomy interior of the
latter, the first floor of which was inhabited by the princess, for the
plan of the ground floor rendered it only fit for giving parties; and,
for a long time past, Madame de Saint-Dizier had renounced all worldly
splendors. The gravity of her domestics, all aged and dressed in black;
the profound silence which reigned in her abode, where everything was
spoken, if it could be called speaking, in an undertone; and the almost
monastic regularity and order of this immense mansion, communicated to
everything around the princess a sad and chilling character. A man of the
world, who joined great courage to rare independence of spirit, speaking
of the princess (to whom Adrienne de Cardoville went, according to her
expression, to fight a pitched battle), said of her as follows: "In order
to avoid having Madame de Saint-Dizier for an enemy, I, who am neither
bashful nor cowardly, have, for the first time in my life, been both a
noodle and a coward." This man spoke sincerely. But Madame de
Saint-Dizier had not all at once arrived at this high degree of
importance.

Some words are necessary for the purpose of exhibiting distinctly some
phases in the life of this dangerous and implacable woman who, by her
affiliation with the Order of Jesuits, had acquired an occult and
formidable power. For there is something even more menacing than a
Jesuit: it is a Jesuits; and, when one has seen certain circles, it
becomes evident that there exist, unhappily, many of those affiliated,
who, more or less, uniformly dress (for the lay members of the Order call
themselves "Jesuits of the short robe").

Madame de Saint-Dizier, once very beautiful, had been, during the last
years of the Empire, and the early years of the Restoration, one of the
most fashionable women of Paris, of a stirring, active, adventurous, and
commanding spirit, of cold heart, but lively imagination. She was greatly
given to amorous adventures, not from tenderness of heart, but from a
passion for intrigue, which she loved as men love play--for the sake of
the emotions it excites. Unhappily, such had always been the blindness or
the carelessness of her husband, the Prince of Saint-Dizier (eldest
brother of the Count of Rennepont and Duke of Cardoville, father of
Adrienne), that during his life he had never said one word that could
make it be thought that he suspected the actions of his wife. Attaching
herself to Napoleon, to dig a mine under the feet of the Colossus, that
design at least afforded emotions sufficient to gratify the humor of the
most insatiable. During some time, all went well. The princess was
beautiful and spirited, dexterous and false, perfidious and seductive.
She was surrounded by fanatical adorers, upon whom she played off a kind
of ferocious coquetry, to induce them to run their heads into grave
conspiracies. They hoped to resuscitate the Fonder party, and carried on
a very active secret correspondence with some influential personages
abroad, well known for their hatred against the emperor and France. Hence
arose her first epistolary relations with the Marquis d'Aigrigny, then
colonel in the Russian service and aide-de-camp to General Moreau. But
one day all these petty intrigues were discovered. Many knights of Madame
de Saint-Dizier were sent to Vincennes; but the emperor, who might have
punished her terribly, contented himself with exiling the princess to one
of her estates near Dunkirk.

Upon the Restoration, the persecutions which Madame de Saint-Dizier had
suffered for the Good Cause were entered to her credit, and she acquired
even then very considerable influence, in spite of the lightness of her
behavior. The Marquis d'Aigrigny, having entered the military service of
France, remained there. He was handsome, and of fashionable manners and
address. He had corresponded and conspired with the princess, without
knowing her; and these circumstances necessarily led to a close
connection between them.

Excessive self-love, a taste for exciting pleasures, aspirations of
hatred, pride, and lordliness, a species of evil sympathy, the perfidious
attraction of which brings together perverse natures without mingling
them, had made of the princess and the Marquis accomplices rather than
lovers. This connection, based upon selfish and bitter feelings, and upon
the support which two characters of this dangerous temper could lend to
each other against a world in which their spirit of intrigue, of
gallantry, and of contempt had made them many enemies, this connection
endured till the moment when, after his duel with General Simon, the
Marquis entered a religious house, without any one understanding the
cause of his unexpected and sudden resolution.

The princess, having not yet heard the hour of her conversion strike,
continued to whirl round the vortex of the world with a greedy, jealous,
and hateful ardor, for she saw that the last years of her beauty were
dying out.

An estimate of the character of this woman may be formed from the
following fact:

Still very agreeable, she wished to close her worldly and volatile career
with some brilliant and final triumph, as a great actress knows the
proper time to withdraw from the stage so as to leave regrets behind.
Desirous of offering up this final incense to her own vanity, the
princess skillfully selected her victims. She spied out in the world a
young couple who idolized each other; and, by dint of cunning and
address, she succeeded in taking away the lover from his mistress, a
charming woman of eighteen, by whom he was adored. This triumph being
achieved, Madame Saint-Dizier retired from the fashionable world in the
full blaze of her exploit. After many long conversations with the Abbe
Marquis d'Aigrigny, who had become a renowned preacher, she departed
suddenly from Paris, and spent two years upon her estate near Dunkirk, to
which she took only one of her female attendants, viz., Mrs. Grivois.