The Wandering Jew, Complete

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


"Yes, mother," answered Mother Bunch, timidly, for she began to find this
provision somewhat singular.

"Then," resumed the superior, "if the case appears a serious one, we
exhort our befriended one to observe what passes more attentively, so as
to convince herself whether she had really reason to be alarmed. She
makes a new report to us, and should it confirm our first fears, faithful
to our pious guardianship, we withdraw her instantly from the house.
Moreover, as the majority of our young people, notwithstanding their
innocence and virtue, have not always sufficient experience to
distinguish what may be injurious to their soul's health, we think it
greatly to their interest that they should confide to us once a week, as
a child would to her mother, either in person or by letter, whatever has
chanced to occur in the house in which we have placed them. Then we can
judge for them, whether to withdraw them or not. We have already about a
hundred persons, companions to ladies, young women in shops, servants,
and needlewomen by the day, whom we have placed in a great number of
families, and, for the interest of all, we have every reason to
congratulate ourselves on this mode of proceeding. You understand me, do
you not, my dear daughter?"

"Yes-yes, mother," said the sempstress, more and more embarrassed. She
had too much uprightness and sagacity not to perceive that this plan of
mutually insuring the morality of masters and servants resembled a vast
spy system, brought home to the domestic hearth, and carried on by the
members of the institution almost without their knowledge, for it would
have been difficult to disguise more skillfully the employment for which
they were trained.

"If I have entered into these long details my dear daughter," resumed
Mother Sainte-Perpetue, taking the hearer's silence for consent, "it is
that you may not suppose yourself obliged to remain in the house in
question, if, against our expectation, you should not find there holy and
pious examples. I believe Mme. de Bremont's house to be a pure and godly
place; only I have heard (though I will not believe it) that Mme. de
Bremont's daughter, Mme. de Noisy, who has lately come to reside with
her, is not so exemplary in her conduct as could be desired, that she
does not fulfil regularly her religious duties, and that, during the
absence of her husband, who is now in America, she receives visits,
unfortunately too frequent, from one M. Hardy, a rich manufacturer."

At the name of Agricola's master, Mother Bunch could not suppress a
movement of surprise, and also blushed slightly. The superior naturally
mistook this surprise and confusion for a proof of the modest
susceptibility of the young sempstress, and added: "I have told you all
this, my dear daughter, that you might be on your guard. I have even
mentioned reports that I believe to be completely erroneous, for the
daughter of Mme. de Bremont has always had such good examples before her
that she cannot have so forgotten them. But, being in the house from
morning to night, you will be able, better than any one, to discover if
these reports have any foundation in truth. Should it unfortunately so
turn out, my dear daughter, you would come and confide to me all the
circumstances that have led you to such a conclusion; and, should I then
agree in your opinion, I would withdraw you instantly from the house--for
the piety of the mother would not compensate sufficiently for the
deplorable example of the daughter's conduct. For, as soon as you form
part of the institution, I am responsible for your salvation, and, in
case your delicacy should oblige you to leave Mme. de Bremont's, as you
might be some time without employment, the institution will allow you, if
satisfied with your zeal and conduct, one franc a day till we could find
you another place. You see, my dear daughter, that you have everything to
gain with us. It is therefore agreed that the day after to-morrow you go
to Mme. de Bremont's." Mother Bunch found herself in a very hard
position. Sometimes she thought that her first suspicions were confirmed,
and, notwithstanding her timidity, her pride felt hurt at the
supposition, that, because they knew her poor, they should believe her
capable of selling herself as a spy for the sake of high wages.
Sometimes, on the contrary, her natural delicacy revolted at the idea
that a woman of the age and condition of the superior could descend to
make a proposition so disgraceful both to the accepter and the proposer,
and she reproached herself with her first doubts and asked herself if the
superior had not wished to try her, before employing her, to see if her
probity would enable her to resist a comparatively brilliant offer.
Mother Bunch was naturally so inclined to think well of every one, that
she made up her mind to this last conclusion, saying to herself, that if,
after all, she were deceived, it would be the least offensive mode of
refusing these unworthy offers. With a movement, exempt from all
haughtiness, but expressive of natural dignity, the young workman raised
her head, which she had hitherto held humbly cast down, looked the
superior full in the face, that the latter might read in her countenance
the sincerity of her words, and said to her in a slightly agitated voice,
forgetting this time to call her "mother": "Ah, madame! I cannot blame
you for exposing me to such a trial. You see that I am very poor, and I
have yet done nothing to command your confidence. But, believe me, poor
as I am, I would never stoop to so despicable an action as that which you
have thought fit to propose to me, no doubt to assure yourself, by my
refusal, that I am worthy of your kindness. No, no, madame--I could never
bring myself to be a spy at any price."

She pronounced these last words with so much animation that her cheeks
became slightly flushed. The superior had too much tact and experience
not to perceive the sincerity of the words. Thinking herself lucky that
the young girl should put this construction upon the affair, she smiled
upon her affectionately, and stretched out her arms to her, saying: "It
is well, my dear daughter. Come and embrace me!"

"Mother--I am really confused--with so much kindness--"

"No--you deserve it--your words are so full of truth and honesty. Only be
persuaded that I have not put you to any trial, because there is no
resemblance between the act of a spy and the marks of filial confidence
that we require of our members for the sake of watching over their
morals. But certain persons--I see you are of the number, my dear
daughter--have such fixed principles, and so mature a judgment, that they
can do without our advice and guardianship, and can appreciate themselves
whatever might be dangerous to their salvation. I will therefore leave
the entire responsibility to yourself, and only ask you for such
communications as you may think proper to make."

"Oh, madame! how good you are!" said poor Mother Bunch, for she was not
aware of the thousand devices of the monastic spirit, and thought herself
already sure of gaining just wages honorably.

"It is not goodness--but justice!" answered Mother Sainte-Perpetue, whose
tone was becoming more and more affectionate. "Too much tenderness cannot
be shown to pious young women like you, whom poverty has only purified
because they have always faithfully observed the divine laws."

"Mother--"

"One last question, my child! how many times a month do you approach the
Lord's table?"

"Madame," replied the hunchback, "I have not taken the sacrament since my
first communion, eight years ago. I am hardly able, by working every day,
and all day long, to earn my bread. I have no time--"

"Gracious heaven!" cried the superior, interrupting, and clasping her
hands with all the signs of painful astonishment. "Is it possible? you do
not practise?"

"Alas, madame! I tell you that I have no time," answered Mother Bunch,
looking disconcertedly at Mother Saint-Perpetue.

"I am grieved, my dear daughter," said the latter sorrowfully, after a
moment's silence, "but I told you that, as we place our friends in none
but pious houses, so we are asked to recommend none but pious persons,
who practise their religious duties. It is one of the indispensable
conditions of our institution. It will, therefore, to my great regret, be
impossible for me to employ you as I had hoped. If, hereafter, you should
renounce your present indifference to those duties, we will then see."

"Madame," said Mother Bunch, her heart swollen with tears, for she was
thus forced to abandon a cheering hope, "I beg pardon for having detained
you so long--for nothing."

"It is I, my dear daughter, who regret not to be able to attach you to
the institution; but I am not altogether hopeless, that a person, already
so worthy of interest, will one day deserve by her piety the lasting
support of religious people. Adieu, my dear daughter! go in peace, and
may God be merciful to you, until the day that you return with your whole
heart to Him!"

So saying, the superior rose, and conducted her visitor to the door, with
all the forms of the most maternal kindness. At the moment she crossed
the threshold, she said to her: "Follow the passage, go down a few steps,
and knock at the second door on the right hand. It is the press-room, and
there you will find Florine. She will show you the way out. Adieu, my
dear daughter!"

As soon as Mother Bunch had left the presence of the superior, her tears,
until now restrained, gushed forth abundantly. Not wishing to appear
before Florine and the nuns in this state, she stopped a moment at one of
the windows to dry her eyes. As she looked mechanically towards the
windows of the next house, where she fancied she had seen Adrienne de
Cardoville, she beheld the latter come from a door in the building, and
advance rapidly towards the open paling that separated the two gardens.
At the same instant, and to her great astonishment, Mother Bunch saw one
of the two sisters whose disappearance had caused the despair of
Dagobert, with pale and dejected countenance, approach the fence that
separated her from Mdlle. de Cardoville, trembling with fear and anxiety,
as though she dreaded to be discovered.




CHAPTER VIII.

MOTHER BUNCH AND MDLLE. DE CARDOVILLE.

Agitated, attentive, uneasy, leaning from one of the convent-windows, the
work-girl followed with her eyes the movements of Mdlle. de Cardoville
and Rose Simon, whom she so little expected to find together in such a
place. The orphan, approaching close to the fence, which separated the
nunnery-garden from that of Dr. Baleinier's asylum, spoke a few words to
Adrienne, whose features at once expressed astonishment, indignation, and
pity. At this juncture, a nun came running, and looking right and left,
as though anxiously seeking for some one; then, perceiving Rose, who
timidly pressed close to the paling, she seized her by the arm, and
seemed to scold her severely, and notwithstanding some energetic words
addressed to her by Mdlle. de Cardoville, she hastily carried off the
orphan, who with weeping eyes, turned several times to look back at
Adrienne; whilst the latter, after showing the interest she took in her
by expressive gestures, turned away suddenly, as if to conceal her tears.

The passage in which the witness stood, during this touching scene, was
situated on the first story. The thought immediately occurred to the
sempstress, to go down to the ground-floor, and try to get into the
garden, so that she might have an opportunity of speaking to the fair
girl with the golden hair, and ascertaining if it were really Mdlle. de
Cardoville, to whom; if she found her in a lucid interval, she might say
that Agricola had things of the greatest importance to communicate, but
that he did not know how to inform her of them. The day was advancing,
the sun was on its decline, and fearing that Florine would be tired of
waiting for her, Mother Bunch made haste to act; with a light step,
listening anxiously as she went, she reached the end of the passage,
where three or four stairs led down to the landing-place of the press
room, and then formed a spiral descent to the ground-floor. Hearing
voices in the pressroom, the sempstress hastened down the stairs, and
found herself in a long passage, in the centre of which was a glass door,
opening on that part of the garden reserved for the superior. A path,
bordered by a high box-hedge, sheltered her from the gaze of curious
eyes, and she crept along it, till she reached the open paling; which, at
this spot, separated the convent-garden from that of Dr. Baleinier's
asylum. She saw Mdlle. de Cardoville a few steps from her, seated, and
with her arm resting upon a rustic bench. The firmness of Adrienne's
character had for a moment been shaken by fatigue, astonishment, fright,
despair, on the terrible night when she had been taken to the asylum by
Dr. Baleinier; and the latter, taking a diabolical advantage of her
weakness and despondency, had succeeded for a moment in making her doubt
of her own sanity. But the calm, which necessarily follows the most
painful and violent emotions, combined with the reflection and reasoning
of a clear and subtle intellect, soon convinced Adrienne of the
groundlessness of the fears inspired by the crafty doctor. She no longer
believed that it could even be a mistake on the part of the man of
science. She saw clearly in the conduct of this man, in which detestable
hypocrisy was united with rare audacity, and both served by a skill no
less remarkable, that M. Baleinier was, in fact, the blind instrument of
the Princess de Saint-Dizier. From that moment, she remained silent and
calm, but full of dignity; not a complaint, not a reproach was allowed to
pass her lips. She waited. Yet, though they left her at liberty to walk
about (carefully depriving her of all means of communicating with any one
beyond the walls), Adrienne's situation was harsh and painful,
particularly for her, who so loved to be surrounded by pleasant and
harmonious objects. She felt, however, that this situation could not last
long. She did not thoroughly understand the penetration and action of the
laws; but her good sense taught her, that a confinement of a few days
under the plea of some appearances of insanity, more or less plausible in
themselves, might be attempted, and even executed with impunity; but that
it could not be prolonged beyond certain limits, because, after all, a
young lady of her rank in society could not disappear suddenly from the
world, without inquiries being made on the subject--and the pretence of a
sudden attack of madness would lead to a serious investigation. Whether
true or false, this conviction had restored Adrienne to her accustomed
elasticity and energy of character. And yet she sometimes in vain asked
herself the cause of this attempt on her liberty. She knew too well the
Princess de Saint-Dizier, to believe her capable of acting in this way,
without a certain end in view, and merely for the purpose of inflicting a
momentary pang. In this, Mdlle. de Cardoville was not deceived: Father
d'Aigrigny and the princess were both persuaded, that Adrienne, better
informed than she wished to acknowledge, knew how important it was for
her to find herself in the house in the Rue Saint-Francois on the 13th of
February, and was determined to maintain her rights. In shutting up
Adrienne as mad, it was intended to strike a fatal blow at her future
prospects; but this last precaution was useless, for Adrienne, though
upon the true scent of the family-secret they lead wished to conceal from
her, had not yet entirely penetrated its meaning, for want of certain
documents, which had been lost or hidden.

Whatever had been the motives for the odious conduct of Mdlle. de
Cardoville's enemies, she was not the less disgusted at it. No one could
be more free from hatred or revenge, than was this generous young girl,
but when she thought of all the sufferings which the Princess de Saint
Dizier, Abbe d'Aigrigny, and Dr. Baleinier had occasioned her, she
promised herself, not reprisals, but a striking reparation. If it were
refused her, she was resolved to combat--without truce or rest--this
combination of craft, hypocrisy, and cruelty, not from resentment for
what she had endured, but to preserve from the same torments other
innocent victims, who might not, like her, be able to struggle and defend
themselves. Adrienne, still under the painful impression which had been
caused by her interview with Rose Simon, was leaning against one of the
sides of the rustic bench on which she was seated, and held her left hand
over her eyes. She had laid down her bonnet beside her, and the inclined
position of her head brought the long golden curls over her fair, shining
cheeks. In this recumbent attitude, so full of careless grace, the
charming proportions of her figure were seen to advantage beneath a
watered green dress, while a broad collar, fastened with a rose-colored
satin bow, and fine lace cuffs, prevented too strong a contrast between
the hue of her dress and the dazzling whiteness of the swan-like neck and
Raphaelesque hands, imperceptibly veined with tiny azure lines. Over the
high and well-formed instep, were crossed the delicate strings of a
little, black satin shoe--for Dr. Baleinier had allowed her to dress
herself with her usual taste, and elegance of costume was not with
Adrienne a mark of coquetry, but of duty towards herself, because she had
been made so beautiful. At sight of this young lady, whose dress and
appearance she admired in all simplicity, without any envious or bitter
comparison with her own poor clothes and deformity of person, Mother
Bunch said immediately to herself, with the good sense and sagacity
peculiar to her, that it was strange a mad woman should dress so sanely
and gracefully. It was therefore with a mixture of surprise and emotion
that she approached the fence which separated her from Adrienne
--reflecting, however, that the unfortunate girl might still be insane,
and that this might turn out to be merely a lucid interval. And now, with
a timid voice, but loud enough to be heard, Mother Bunch, in order to
assure herself of Adrienne's identity, said, whilst her heart beat fast:
"Mdlle. de Cardoville!"

"Who calls me?" said Adrienne. On hastily raising her head, and
perceiving the hunchback, she could not suppress a slight cry of
surprise, almost fright. For indeed this poor creature, pale, deformed,
miserably clad, thus appearing suddenly before her, must have inspired
Mdlle, de Cardoville, so passionately fond of grace and beauty, with a
feeling of repugnance, if not of terror--and these two sentiments were
both visible in her expressive countenance.

The other did not perceive the impression she had made. Motionless, with
her eyes fixed, and her hands clasped in a sort of adoring admiration,
she gazed on the dazzling beauty of Adrienne, whom she had only half seen
through the grated window. All that Agricola had told her of the charms
of his protectress, appeared to her a thousand times below the reality;
and never, even in her secret poetic visions, had she dreamed of such
rare perfection. Thus, by a singular contrast, a feeling of mutual
surprise came over these two girls--extreme types of deformity and
beauty, wealth and wretchedness. After rendering, as it were, this
involuntary homage to Adrienne, Mother Bunch advanced another step
towards the fence.

"What do you want?" cried Mdlle. de Cardoville, rising with a sentiment
of repugnance, which could not escape the work-girl's notice;
accordingly, she held down her head timidly, and said in a soft voice: "I
beg your pardon, madame, to appear so suddenly before you. But moments
are precious, I come from Agricola."

As she pronounced these words, the sempstress raised her eyes anxiously,
fearing that Mdlle. de Cardoville might have forgotten the name of the
workman. But, to her great surprise and joy, the fears of Adrienne seemed
to diminish at the name of Agricola, and approaching the fence, she
looked at the speaker with benevolent curiosity.

"You come from M. Agricola Baudoin?" said she. "Who are you?"

"His adopted sister, madame--a poor needlewoman, who lives in the same
house."

Adrienne appeared to collect her thoughts, and said, smiling kindly,
after a moment's silence: "It was you then, who persuaded M. Agricola to
apply to me to procure him bail?"

"Oh, madame, do you remember--"

"I never forget anything that is generous and noble. M. Agricola was much
affected when he spoke of your devotion. I remember it well; it would be
strange if I did not. But how came you here, in this convent?"

"They told me that I should perhaps be able to get some occupation here,
as I am out of work. Unfortunately, I have been refused by the lady
superior."

"And how did you recognize me?"

"By your great beauty, madame, of which Agricola had told me."

"Or rather by this," said Adrienne, smiling as she lifted, with the tips
of her rosy fingers, one end of a long, silky ringlet of golden hair.

"You must pardon Agricola, madame," said the sewing girl, with one of
those half smiles, which rarely settled on her lips: "he is a poet, and
omitted no single perfection in the respectful and admiring description
which he gave of his protectress."

"And what induced you to come and speak to me?"

"The hope of being useful to you, madame. You received Agricola with so
much goodness, that I have ventured to go shares in his gratitude."

"You may well venture to do so, my dear girl," said Adrienne, with
ineffable grace; "until now, unfortunately, I have only been able to
serve your adopted brother by intention."

As they exchanged these words, Adrienne and Mother Bunch looked at each
other with increasing surprise. The latter was, first of all, astonished
that a person who passed for mad should express herself as Adrienne did;
next, she was amazed at the ease and freedom with which she herself
answered the questions of Mdlle. de Cardoville--not knowing that the
latter was endowed with the precious privilege of lofty and benevolent
natures, to draw out from those who approached her whatever sympathized
with herself. On her side, Mdlle. de Cardoville was deeply moved and
astonished to hear this young, low-born girl, dressed almost like a
beggar, express herself in terms selected with so much propriety. The
more she looked at her, the more the feeling of repugnance she at first
experienced wore off, and was at length converted into quite the opposite
sentiment. With that rapid and minute power of observation natural to
women, she remarked beneath the black crape of Mother Bunch's cap, the
smoothness and brilliancy of the fair, chestnut hair. She remarked, too,
the whiteness of the long, thin hand, though it displayed itself at the
end of a patched and tattered sleeve--an infallible proof that care, and
cleanliness, and self-respect were at least struggling against symptoms
of fearful distress. Adrienne discovered, also, in the pale and
melancholy features, in the expression of the blue eyes, at once
intelligent, mild and timid, a soft and modest dignity, which made one
forget the deformed figure. Adrienne loved physical beauty, and admired
it passionately, but she had too superior a mind, too noble a soul, too
sensitive a heart, not to know how to appreciate moral beauty, even when
it beamed from a humble and suffering countenance. Only, this kind of
appreciation was new to Mdlle. de Cardoville; until now, her large
fortune and elegant habits had kept her at a distance from persons of
Mother Bunch's class. After a short silence, during which the fair
patrician and the poor work-girl had closely examined each other,
Adrienne said to the other: "It is easy, I think, to explain the cause of
our mutual astonishment. You have, no doubt, discovered that I speak
pretty reasonably for a mad woman--if they have told you I am one. And
I," added Mdlle. de Cardoville, in a tone of respectful commiseration,
"find that the delicacy of your language and manners so singularly
contrast with the position in which you appear to be, that my surprise
must be even greater than yours."

"Ah, madame!" cried Mother Bunch, with a welling forth of such deep and
sincere joy that the tears started to her eyes; "is it true?--they have
deceived me--you are not mad! Just now, when I beheld you so kind and
beautiful, when I heard the sweet tone of your voice, I could not believe
that such a misfortune had happened to you. But, alas! how is it then,
madame, that you are in this place?"

"Poor child!" said Adrienne, touched by the affectionate interest of this
excellent creature; "and how is it that you, with such a heart and head,
should be in such distress? But be satisfied! I shall not always be
here--and that will suffice to tell you, that we shall both resume the
place which becomes us. Believe me, I shall never forget how, in spite of
the painful ideas which must needs occupy your mind, on seeing yourself
deprived of work--your only resource--you have still thought of coming to
me, and of trying to serve me. You may, indeed, be eminently useful to
me, and I am delighted at it, for then I shall owe you much--and you
shall see how I will take advantage of my gratitude!" said Adrienne, with
a sweet smile. "But," resumed she, "before talking of myself, let us
think of others. Is your adopted brother still in prison?"