The Wandering Jew, Complete

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


"By this time, madame, I hope he has obtained his freedom; thanks to the
generosity of one of his comrades. His father went yesterday to offer
bail for him, and they promised that he should be released to-day. But,
from his prison, he wrote to me, that he had something of importance to
reveal to you."

"To me?"

"Yes, madame. Should Agricola be released immediately by what means can
he communicate with you?"

"He has secrets to tell me!" resumed Mdlle. de Cardoville, with an air of
thoughtful surprise. "I seek in vain to imagine what they can be; but so
long as I am confined in this house, and secluded from every one, M.
Agricola must not think of addressing himself directly or indirectly to
me. He must wait till I am at liberty; but that is not all, he must
deliver from that convent two poor children, who are much more to be
pitied than I am. The daughters of Marshal Simon are detained there
against their will."

"You know their name, madame?"

"When M. Agricola informed me of their arrival in Paris, he told me they
were fifteen years old, and that they resembled each other exactly--so
that, the day before yesterday, when I took my accustomed walk, and
observed two poor little weeping faces come close to the windows of their
separate cells, one on the ground floor, the other on the first story, a
secret presentiment told me that I saw in them the orphans of whom M.
Agricola had spoken, and in whom I already took a lively interest, as
being my relations."

"They are your relations, madame, then?"

"Yes, certainly. So, not being able to do more, I tried to express by
signs how much I felt for them. Their tears, and the sadness of their
charming faces, sufficiently told me that they were prisoners in the
convent, as I am myself in this house."

"Oh! I understand, madame--the victim of the animosity of your family?"

"Whatever may be my fate, I am much less to be pitied than these two
children, whose despair is really alarming. Their separation is what
chiefly oppresses them. By some words that one of them just now said to
me, I see that they are, like me, the victims of an odious machination.
But thanks to you, it will be possible to save them: Since I have been in
this house I have had no communication with any one; they have not
allowed me pen or paper, so it is impossible to write. Now listen to me
attentively, and we shall be able to defeat an odious persecution."

"Oh, speak! speak, madame!"

"The soldier, who brought these orphans to France, the father of M.
Agricola, is still in town?"

"Yes, madame. Oh! if you only knew his fury, his despair, when, on his
return home, he no longer found the children that a dying mother had
confided to him!"

"He must take care not to act with the least violence. It would ruin all.
Take this ring," said Adrienne, drawing it from her finger, "and give it
to him. He must go instantly--are you sure that you can remember a name
and address?"

"Oh! yes, madame. Be satisfied on that point. Agricola only mentioned
your name once, and I have not forgotten it. There is a memory of the
heart."

"I perceive it, my dear girl. Remember, then, the name of the Count de
Montbron."

"The Count de Montbron--I shall not forget."

"He is one of my good old friends, and lives on the Place Vendome, No.
7."

"Place Vendome, No. 7--I shall remember."

"M. Agricola's father must go to him this evening, and, if he is not at
home, wait for his coming in. He must ask to speak to him, as if from me,
and send him this ring as a proof of what he says. Once with him, he must
tell him all--the abduction of the girls, the name of the convent where
they are confined, and my own detention as a lunatic in the asylum of Dr.
Baleinier. Truth has an accent of its own, which M. de Montbron will
recognize. He is a man of much experience and judgment, and possessed of
great influence. He will immediately take the necessary steps, and
to-morrow, or the day after, these poor orphans and myself will be
restored to liberty--all thanks to you! But moments are precious; we
might be discovered; make haste, dear child!"

At the moment of drawing back, Adrienne said to Mother Bunch, with so
sweet a smile and affectionate a tone, that it was impossible not to
believe her sincere: "M. Agricola told me that I had a heart like yours.
I now understand how honorable, how flattering those words were for me.
Pray, give me your hand!" added Mdlle. de Cardoville, whose eyes were
filling with tears; and, passing her beautiful hand through an opening in
the fence, she offered it to the other. The words and the gesture of the
fair patrician were full of so much real cordiality, that the sempstress,
with no false shame, placed tremblingly her own poor thin hand in
Adrienne's, while the latter, with a feeling of pious respect, lifted it
spontaneously to her lips, and said: "Since I cannot embrace you as my
sister, let me at least kiss this hand, ennobled by labor!"

Suddenly, footsteps were heard in the garden of Dr. Baleinier; Adrienne
withdrew abruptly, and disappeared behind some trees, saying: "Courage,
memory, and hope!"

All this had passed so rapidly that the young workwoman had no time to
speak or move; tears, sweet tears, flowed abundantly down her pale
cheeks. For a young lady, like Adrienne de Cardoville, to treat her as a
sister, to kiss her hand, to tell her that she was proud to resemble her
in heart--her, a poor creature, vegetating in the lowest abyss of
misery--was to show a spirit of fraternal equality, divine, as the gospel
words.

There are words and impressions which make a noble soul forget years of
suffering, and which, as by a sudden flash, reveal to it something of its
own worth and grandeur. Thus it was with the hunchback. Thanks to this
generous speech, she was for a moment conscious of her own value. And
though this feeling was rapid as it was ineffable, she clasped her hands
and raised her eyes to heaven with an expression of fervent gratitude;
for, if the poor sempstress did not practise, to use the jargon of
ultramontane cant, no one was more richly endowed with that deep
religious sentiment, which is to mere dogmas what the immensity of the
starry heaven is to the vaulted roof of a church.

Five minutes after quitting Mdlle. de Cardoville, Mother Bunch, having
left the garden without being perceived, reascended to the first story,
and knocked gently at the door of the press-room. A sister came to open
the door to her.

"Is not Mdlle. Florine, with whom I came, still here, sister?" asked the
needlewoman.

"She could not wait for you any longer. No doubt, you have come from our
mother the superior?"

"Yes, yes, sister," answered the sempstress, casting down her eyes;
"would you have the goodness to show me the way out?"

"Come with me."

The sewing-girl followed the nun, trembling at every step lest she should
meet the superior, who would naturally have inquired the cause of her
long stay in the convent.

At length the inner gate closed upon Mother Bunch. Passing rapidly across
the vast court-yard and approaching the porter's lodge, to ask him to let
her out, she heard these words pronounced in a gruff voice: "It seems,
old Jerome, that we are to be doubly on our guard to-night. Well, I shall
put two extra balls in my gun. The superior says we are to make two
rounds instead of one."

"I want no gun, Nicholas," said the other voice; "I have my sharp scythe,
a true gardener's weapon--and none the worse for that."

Feeling an involuntary uneasiness at these words, which she had heard by
mere chance, Mother Bunch approached the porter's lodge, and asked him to
open the outer gate.

"Where do you come from?" challenged the porter, leaning half way out of
his lodge, with a double barrelled gun, which he was occupied in loading,
in his hand, and at the same time examining the sempstress with a
suspicious air.

"I come from speaking to the superior," answered Mother Bunch timidly.

"Is that true?" said Nicholas roughly. "You look like a sanctified
scarecrow. Never mind. Make haste and cut!"

The gate opened, and Mother Bunch went out. Hardly had she gone a few
steps in the sweet, when, to her great surprise, she saw the dog Spoil
sport run up to her, and his master, Dagobert, a little way behind him,
arriving also with precipitation. She was hastening to meet the soldier,
when a full, sonorous voice exclaimed from a little distance: "Oh my good
sister!" which caused the girl to turn round. From the opposite side to
that whence Dagobert was coming, she saw Agricola hurrying towards the
spot.




CHAPTER IX.

THE ENCOUNTERS.

At the sight of Dagobert and Agricola, Mother Bunch remained motionless
with surprise, a few steps from the convent-gate. The soldier had not yet
perceived the sempstress. He advanced rapidly, following the dog, who
though lean, half-starved, rough-coated, and dirty, seemed to frisk with
pleasure, as he turned his intelligent face towards his master, to whom
he had gone back, after caressing Mother Bunch.

"Yes, yes; I understand you, old fellow!" said the soldier, with emotion.
"You are more faithful than I was; you did not leave the dear children
for a minute. Yes, you followed them, and watched day and night, without
food, at the door of the house to which they were taken--and, at length,
weary of waiting to see them come forth, ran home to fetch me. Yes;
whilst I was giving way to despair, like a furious madman, you were doing
what I ought to have done--discovering their retreat. What does it all
prove? Why, that beasts are better than men--which is well known. Well,
at length I shall see them again. When I think that tomorrow is the 13th,
and that without you, my did Spoil-sport, all would be lost--it makes me
shudder. But I say, shall we soon be there? What a deserted quarter! and
night coming on!"

Dagobert had held this discourse to Spoil-sport, as he walked along
following the good dog, who kept on at a rapid pace. Suddenly, seeing the
faithful animal start aside with a bound, he raised his eyes, and
perceived the dog frisking about the hunchback and Agricola, who had just
met at a little distance from the convent-gate.

"Mother Bunch?" exclaimed both father and son, as they approached the
young workwoman, and looked at her with extreme surprise.

"There is good hope, M. Dagobert," said she with inexpressible joy. "Rose
and Blanche are found!" Then, turning towards the smith, she added,
"There is good hope, Agricola: Mdlle. de Cardoville is not mad. I have
just seen her."

"She is not mad? what happiness!" exclaimed the smith.

"The children!" cried Dagobert, trembling with emotion, as he took the
work-girl's hands in his own. "You have seen them?"

"Yes; just now--very sad--very unhappy--but I was not able to speak to
them."

"Oh!" said Dagobert, stopping as if suffocated by the news, and pressing
his hands on his bosom; "I never thought that my old heart could beat
so!--And yet, thanks to my dog, I almost expected what has taken place.
Anyhow, I am quite dizzy with joy."

"Well, father, it's a good day," said Agricola, looking gratefully at the
girl.

"Kiss me, my dear child!" added the soldier, as he pressed Mother Bunch
affectionately in his arms; then, full of impatience, he added: "Come,
let us go and fetch the children."

"Ah, my good sister!" said Agricola, deeply moved; "you will restore
peace, perhaps life, to my father--and Mdlle. de Cardoville--but how do
you know?"

"A mere chance. And how did you come here?"

"Spoil-sport stops and barks," cried Dagobert, who had already made
several steps in advance.

Indeed the dog, who was as impatient as his master to see the orphans,
and far better informed as to the place of their retreat, had posted
himself at the convent gate, and was beginning to bark, to attract the
attention of Dagobert. Understanding his dog, the latter said to the
hunchback, as he pointed in that direction with his finger: "The children
are there?"

"Yes, M. Dagobert."

"I was sure of it. Good dog!--Oh, yes! beasts are better than men--except
you, my dear girl, who are better than either man or beast. But my poor
children! I shall see them, I shall have them once more!"

So saying, Dagobert, in spite of his age, began to run very fast towards
Spoil-sport. "Agricola," cried Mother Bunch, "prevent thy father from
knocking at that door. He would ruin all."

In two strides, the smith had reached his father, just as the latter was
raising his hand to the knocker. "Stop, father!" cried the smith, as he
seized Dagobert by the arm.

"What the devil is it now?"

"Mother Bunch says that to knock would ruin all."

"How so?"

"She will explain it to you." Although not so nimble as Agricola, Mother
Bunch soon came up, and said to the soldier: "M. Dagobert, do not let us
remain before this gate. They might open it, and see us; and that would
excite suspicion. Let us rather go away--"

"Suspicion!" cried the veteran, much surprised, but without moving from
the gate; "what suspicion?"

"I conjure you, do not remain there!" said Mother Bunch, with so much
earnestness, that Agricola joined her, and said to his father: "Since
sister rashes it, father, she has some reason for it. The Boulevard de
l'Hopital is a few steps from here; nobody passes that way; we can talk
there without being interrupted."

"Devil take me if I understand a word of all this!" cried Dagobert,
without moving from his post. "The children are here, and I will fetch
them away with me. It is an affair of ten minutes."

"Do not think that, M. Dagobert," said Mother Bunch. "It is much more
difficult than you imagine. But come! come!--I can hear them talk in the
court-yard."

In fact, the sound of voices was now distinctly audible. "Come father!"
said Agricola, forcing away the soldier, almost in spite of himself.
Spoil-sport, who appeared much astonished at these hesitations, barked
two or three times without quitting his post, as if to protest against
this humiliating retreat; but, being called by Dagobert, he hastened to
rejoin the main body.

It was now about five o'clock in the evening. A high wind swept thick
masses of grayish, rainy cloud rapidly across the sky. The Boulevard de
l'Hopital, which bordered on this portion of the convent-garden, was, as
we before said, almost deserted. Dagobert, Agricola, and the serving girl
could hold a private conference in this solitary place.

The soldier did not disguise the extreme impatience that these delays
occasioned in him. Hardly had they turned the corner of the street, when
he said to Mother Bunch: "Come, my child, explain yourself. I am upon hot
coals."

"The house in which the daughters of Marshal Simon are confined is a
convent, M. Dagobert."

"A convent!" cried the soldier: "I might have suspected it." Then he
added: "Well, what then? I will fetch them from a convent as soon as from
any other place. Once is not always."

"But, M. Dagobert, they are confined against their will and against
yours. They will not give them up."

"They will not give them up? Zounds! we will see about that." And he made
a step towards the street.

"Father," said Agricola, holding him back, "one moment's patience; let us
hear all."

"I will hear nothing. What! the children are there--two steps from me--I
know it--and I shall not have them, either by fair means or foul? Oh!
that would indeed be curious. Let me go."

"Listen to me, I beseech you, M. Dagobert," said Mother Bunch, taking his
hand: "there is another way to deliver these poor children. And that
without violence--for violence, as Mdlle. de Cardoville told me, would
ruin all."

"If there is any other way--quick--let me know it!"

"Here is a ring of Mdlle. de Cardoville's."

"And who is this Mdlle. de Cardoville?"

"Father," said Agricola, "it is the generous young lady, who offered to
be my bail, and to whom I have very important matters to communicate."

"Good, good," replied Dagobert; "we will talk of that presently. Well, my
dear girl--this ring?"

"You must take it directly, M. Dagobert, to the Count de Montbron, No. 7,
Place Vendome. He appears to be a person of influence, and is a friend of
Mdlle. de Cardoville's. This ring will prove that you come on her behalf,
and you will tell him, that she is confined as a lunatic in the asylum
next door to this convent, in which the daughters of Marshal Simon are
detained against their will."

"Well, well--what next?"

"Then the Count de Montbron will take the proper steps with persons in
authority, to restore both Mdlle. de Cardoville and the daughters of
Marshal Simon to liberty--and perhaps, to-morrow, or the day after--"

"To-morrow or the day after!" cried Dagobert; "perhaps?--It is to-day, on
the instant, that I must have them. The day after to-morrow would be of
much use! Thanks, my good girl, but keep your ring: I will manage my own
business. Wait for me here, my boy."

"What are you going to do, father?" cried Agricola, still holding back
the soldier. "It is a convent, remember."

"You are only a raw recruit; I have my theory of convents at my fingers'
end. In Spain, I have put it in practice a hundred times. Here is what
will happen. I knock; a portress opens the door to me; she asks me what I
want, but I make no answer; she tries to stop me, but I pass on; once in
the convent, I walk over it from top to bottom, calling my children with
all my might."

"But, M. Dagobert, the nuns?" said Mother Bunch, still trying to detain
the soldier.

"The nuns run after me, screaming like so many magpies. I know them. At
Seville I fetched out an Andalusian girl, whom they were trying to keep
by force. Well, I walk about the convent calling for Rose and Blanche.
They hear me, and answer. If they are shut in, I take the first piece of
furniture that comes to hand, and break open the door."

"But, M. Dagobert--the nuns--the nuns?"

"The nuns, with all their squalling, will not prevent my breaking open
the door, seizing my children in my arms, and carrying them off. Should
the outer door be shut, there will be a second smash--that's all. So,"
added Dagobert, disengaging himself from the grasp, "wait for me here. In
ten minutes I shall be back again. Go and get a hackney-coach ready, my
boy."

More calm than Dagobert, and, above all, better informed as to the
provisions of the Penal Code, Agricola was alarmed at the consequences
that might attend the veteran's strange mode of proceeding. So, throwing
himself before him, he exclaimed: "One word more, I entreat you."

"Zounds! make haste!"

"If you attempt to enter the convent by force, you will ruin all."

"How so?"

"First of all, M. Dagobert," said Mother Bunch, "there are men in the
convent. As I came out just now, I saw the porter loading his gun, and
heard the gardener talking of his sharp scythe, and the rounds he was to
make at night."

"Much I care for a porter's gun and a gardener's scythe!"

"Well, father; but listen to me a moment, I conjure you. Suppose you
knock, and the door is opened--the porter will ask you what you want.'

"I tell him that I wish to speak to the superior, and so walk into the
convent."

"But, M. Dagobert," said Mother Bunch, "when once you have crossed the
court-yard, you reach a second door, with a wicket. A nun comes to it, to
see who rings, and does not open the door till she knows the object of
the visit."

"I will tell her that I wish to see the lady superior."

"Then, father, as you are not known in the convent, they will go and
inform the superior."

"Well, what then?"

"She will come down."

"What next?"

"She will ask you what you want, M. Dagobert."

"What I want?--the devil! my children!"

"One minute's patience, father. You cannot doubt, from the precautions
they have taken, that they wish to detain these young ladies against
their will, and against yours."

"Doubt! I am sure of it. To come to that point, they began by turning the
head of my poor wife."

"Then, father, the superior will reply to you that she does not know what
you mean, and that the young ladies are not in the convent."

"And I will reply to her, that they are in the convent witness--Mother
Bunch and Spoil-sport."

"The superior will answer, that she does not know you; that she has no
explanations to give you; and will close the wicket."

"Then I break it open--since one must come to that in the end--so leave
me alone, I tell you! 'sblood! leave me alone!"

"And, on this noise and violence, the porter will run and fetch the
guard, and they will begin by arresting you."

"And what will become of your poor children, then, M. Dagobert?" said
Mother Bunch.

Agricola's father had too much good sense not to feel the truth of these
observations of the girl and his son; but he knew also, that, cost what
it might, the orphans must be delivered before the morrow. The
alternative was terrible--so terrible, that, pressing his two hands to
his burning forehead, Dagobert sunk back upon a stone bench, as if struck
down by the inexorable fatality of the dilemma.

Agricola and the workwoman, deeply moved by this mute despair, exchanged
a sad look. The smith, seating himself beside the soldier, said to him:
"Do not be down-hearted, father. Remember what's been told you. By going
with this ring of Mdlle. de Cardoville's to the influential gentleman she
named, the young ladies may be free by to-morrow, or, at worst, by the
day after."

"Blood and thunder! you want to drive me mad!" exclaimed Dagobert,
starting up from the bench, and looking at Mother Bunch and his son with
so savage an expression that Agricola and the sempstress drew back, with
an air of surprise and uneasiness.

"Pardon me, my children!" said Dagobert, recovering himself after a long
silence. "I am wrong to get in a passion, for we do not understand one
another. What you say is true; and yet I am right to speak as I do.
Listen to me. You are an honest man, Agricola; you an honest girl; what I
tell you is meant for you alone. I have brought these children from the
depths of Siberia--do you know why? That they may be to-morrow morning in
the Rue Saint-Francois. If they are not there, I have failed to execute
the last wish of their dying mother."

"No. 3, Rue Saint Francois?" cried Agricola, interrupting his father.

"Yes; how do you know the number?" said Dagobert.

"Is not the date inscribed on a bronze medal?"

"Yes," replied Dagobert, more end more surprised; "who told you?"

"One instant, father!" exclaimed Agricola; "let me reflect. I think I
guess it. Did you not tell me, my good sister, that Mdlle. de Cardoville
was not mad?"

"Not mad. They detain her in this asylum to prevent her communicating
with any one. She believes herself, like the daughters of Marshal Simon,
the victim of an odious machination."

"No doubt of it," cried the smith. "I understand all now, Mdlle. de
Cardoville has the same interest as the orphans to appear to-morrow at
the Rue Saint-Francois. But she does not perhaps know it."

"How so?"

"One word more, my good girl. Did Mdlle. de Cardoville tell you that she
had a powerful motive to obtain her freedom by to-morrow?"

"No; for when she gave me this ring for the Count de Montbron, she said
to me: 'By this means both I and Marshal Simon's daughters will be at
liberty either to-morrow or the day after--'"

"But explain yourself, then," said Dagobert to his son, with impatience.

"Just now," replied the smith, "when you came to seek me in prison, I
told you, father, that I had a sacred duty to perform, and that I would
rejoin you at home."

"Yes; and I went, on my side, to take some measures, of which I will
speak to you presently."

"I ran instantly to the house in the Rue de Babylone, not knowing that
Mdlle. de Cardoville was mad, or passed for mad. A servant, who opened
the door to me, informed me that the young lady had been seized with a
sudden attack of madness. You may conceive, father, what a blow that was
to me! I asked where she was: they answered, that they did not know. I
asked if I could speak to any of the family; as my jacket did not inspire
any great confidence, they replied that none of her family were at
present there. I was in despair, but an idea occurred to me. I said to
myself: 'If she is mad, her family physician must know where they have
taken her; if she is in a state to hear me, he will take me to her; if
not, I will speak to her doctor, as I would to her relations. A doctor is
often a friend.' I asked the servant, therefore, to give me the doctor's
address. I obtained it without difficulty--Dr. Baleinier, No. 12, Rue
Taranne. I ran thither, but he had gone out; they told me that I should
find him about five o'clock at his asylum, which is next door to the
convent. That is how we have met."

"But the medal--the medal?" said Dagobert, impatiently; "where did you
see it?"

"It is with regard to this and other things that I wished to make
important communications to Mdlle. de Cardoville."

"And what are these communications?"

"The fact is, father, I had gone to her the day of your departure, to beg
her to get me bail. I was followed; and when she learned this from her
waiting-woman, she concealed me in a hiding-place. It was a sort of
little vaulted room, in which no light was admitted, except through a
tunnel, made like a chimney; yet in a few minutes, I could see pretty
clearly. Having nothing better to do, I looked all about me and saw that
the walls were covered with wainscoting. The entrance to this room was
composed of a sliding panel, moving by means of weights and wheels
admirably contrived. As these concern my trade, I was interested in them,
so I examined the springs, spite of my emotion, with curiosity, and
understood the nature of their play; but there was one brass knob, of
which I could not discover the use. It was in vain to pull and move it
from right to left, none of the springs were touched. I said to myself:
'This knob, no doubt, belongs to another piece of mechanism'--and the
idea occurred to me, instead of drawing it towards me, to push it with
force. Directly after, I heard a grating sound, and perceived, just above
the entrance to the hiding-place, one of the panels, about two feet
square, fly open like the door of a secretary. As I had, no doubt, pushed
the spring rather too hard, a bronze medal and chain fell out with a
shock."