The Wandering Jew, Complete

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


"And you saw the address--Rue Saint-Francois?" cried Dagobert.

"Yes, father; and with this medal, a sealed letter fell to the ground. On
picking it up, I saw that it was addressed, in large letters: 'For Mdlle.
de Cardoville. To be opened by her the moment it is delivered.' Under
these words, I saw the initials 'R.' and 'C.,' accompanied by a flourish,
and this date: 'Paris, November the 13th, 1830.' On the other side of the
envelope I perceived two seals, with the letters 'R.' and 'C.,'
surmounted by a coronet."

"And the seals were unbroken?" asked Mother Bunch.

"Perfectly whole."

"No doubt, then, Mdlle. de Cardoville was ignorant of the existence of
these papers," said the sempstress.

"That was my first idea, since she was recommended to open the letter
immediately, and, notwithstanding this recommendation, which bore date
two years back, the seals remained untouched."

"It is evident," said Dagobert. "What did you do?"

"I replaced the whole where it was before, promising myself to inform
Mdlle. de Cardoville of it. But, a few minutes after, they entered my
hiding-place, which had been discovered, and I did not see her again. I
was only able to whisper a few words of doubtful meaning to one of her
waiting-women, on the subject of what I had found, hoping thereby to
arouse the attention of her mistress; and, as soon as I was able to write
to you, my good sister, I begged you to go and call upon Mdlle. de
Cardoville."

"But this medal," said Dagobert, "is exactly like that possessed by the
daughter of Marshal Simon. How can you account for that?"

"Nothing so plain, father. Mdlle. de Cardoville is their relation. I
remember now, that she told me so."

"A relation of Rose and Blanche?"

"Yes," added Mother Bunch; "she told that also to me just now."

"Well, then," resumed Dagobert, looking anxiously at his son, "do you now
understand why I must have my children this very day? Do you now
understand, as their poor mother told me on her death-bed, that one day's
delay might ruin all? Do you now see that I cannot be satisfied with a
perhaps to-morrow, when I have come all the way from Siberia, only, that
those children might be to-morrow in the Rue Saint-Francois? Do you at
last perceive that I must have them this night, even if I have to set
fire to the convent?"

"But, father, if you employ violence--"

"Zounds! do you know what the commissary of police answered me this
morning, when I went to renew my charge against your mother's confessor?
He said to me that there was no proof, and that they could do nothing."

"But now there is proof, father, for at least we know where the young
girls are. With that certainty we shall be strong. The law is more
powerful than all the superiors of convents in the world."

"And the Count de Montbron, to whom Mdlle. de Cardoville begs you to
apply," said Mother Bunch, "is a man of influence. Tell him the reasons
that make it so important for these young ladies, as well as Mdlle. de
Cardoville, to be at liberty this evening and he will certainly hasten
the course of justice, and to-night your children will be restored to
you."

"Sister is in the right, father. Go to the Count. Meanwhile, I will run
to the commissary, and tell him that we now know where the young girls
are confined. Do you go home, and wait for us, my good girl. We will meet
at our own house!"

Dagobert had remained plunged in thought; suddenly, he said to Agricola:
"Be it so. I will follow your counsel. But suppose the commissary says to
you: 'We cannot act before to-morrow'--suppose the Count de Montbron says
to me the same thing--do not think I shall stand with my arms folded
until the morning."

"But, father--"

"It is enough," resumed the soldier in an abrupt voice: "I have made up
my mind. Run to the commissary, my boy; wait for us at home, my good
girl; I will go to the Count. Give me the ring. Now for the address!"

"The Count de Montbron, No. 7, Place Vendome," said she; "you come on
behalf of Mdlle. de Cardoville."

"I have a good memory," answered the soldier. "We will meet as soon as
possible in the Rue Brise-Miche."

"Yes, father; have good courage. You will see that the law protects and
defends honest people."

"So much the better," said the soldier; "because, otherwise, honest
people would be obliged to protect and defend themselves. Farewell, my
children! we will meet soon in the Rue Brise-Miche."

When Dagobert, Agricola, and Mother Bunch separated, it was already dark
night.




CHAPTER X.

THE MEETING.

It is eight o'clock in the evening, the rain dashes against the windows
of Frances Baudoin's apartment in the Rue Brise-Miche, while violent
squalls of wind shake the badly dosed doors and casements. The disorder
and confusion of this humble abode, usually kept with so much care and
neatness, bore testimony to the serious nature of the sad events which
had thus disturbed existences hitherto peaceful in their obscurity.

The paved floor was soiled with mud, and a thick layer of dust covered
the furniture, once so bright and clean. Since Frances was taken away by
the commissary, the bed had not been made; at night Dagobert had thrown
himself upon it for a few hours in his clothes, when, worn out with
fatigue, and crushed by despair, he had returned from new and vain
attempts to discover Rose and Blanche's prison-house. Upon the drawers
stood a bottle, a glass, and some fragments of dry bread, proving the
frugality of the soldier, whose means of subsistence were reduced to the
money lent by the pawnbroker upon the things pledged by Mother Bunch,
after the arrest of Frances.

By the faint glimmer of a candle, placed upon the little stove, now cold
as marble, for the stock of wood had long been exhausted, one might have
seen the hunchback sleeping upon a chair, her head resting on her bosom,
her hands concealed beneath her cotton apron, and her feet resting on the
lowest rung of the chair; from time to time, she shivered in her damp,
chill garments.

After that long day of fatigue and diverse emotions, the poor creature
had eaten nothing. Had she even thought of it, she would have been at a
loss for bread. Waiting for the return of Dagobert and Agricola, she had
sunk into an agitated sleep--very different, alas! from calm and
refreshing slumber. From time to time, she half opened her eyes uneasily,
and looked around her. Then, again, overcome by irresistible heaviness,
her head fell upon her bosom.

After some minutes of silence, only interrupted by the noise of the wind,
a slow and heavy step was heard on the landing-place. The door opened,
and Dagobert entered, followed by Spoil-sport.

Waking with a start, Mother Bunch raised her head hastily, sprang from
her chair, and, advancing rapidly to meet Agricola's father, said to him:
"Well, M. Dagobert! have you good news? Have you--"

She could not continue, she was so struck with the gloomy expression of
the soldier's features. Absorbed in his reflections, he did not at first
appear to perceive the speaker, but threw himself despondingly on a
chair, rested his elbows upon the table, and hid his face in his hands.
After a long meditation, he rose, and said in a low voice: "It must--yes,
it must be done!"

Taking a few steps up and down the room, Dagobert looked around him, as
if in search of something. At length, after about a minute's examination,
he perceived near the stove, a bar of iron, perhaps two feet long,
serving to lift the covers, when too hot for the fingers. Taking this in
his hand, he looked at it closely, poised it to judge of its weight, and
then laid it down upon the drawers with an air of satisfaction. Surprised
at the long silence of Dagobert, the needlewoman followed his movements
with timid and uneasy curiosity. But soon her surprise gave way to
fright, when she saw the soldier take down his knapsack, place it upon a
chair, open it, and draw from it a pair of pocket-pistols, the locks of
which he tried with the utmost caution.

Seized with terror, the sempstress could not forbear exclaiming: "Good
gracious, M. Dagobert! what are you going to do?"

The soldier looked at her as if he only now perceived her for the first
time, and said to her in a cordial, but abrupt voice: "Good-evening, my
good girl! What is the time?"

"Eight o'clock has just struck at Saint-Mery's, M. Dagobert."

"Eight o'clock," said the soldier, speaking to himself; "only eight!"

Placing the pistols by the side of the iron bar, he appeared again to
reflect, while he cast his eyes around him.

"M. Dagobert," ventured the girl, "you have not, then, good news?"

"No."

That single word was uttered by the soldier in so sharp a tone, that, not
daring to question him further, Mother Bunch sat down in silence. Spoil
sport came to lean his head on the knees of the girl, and followed the
movements of Dagobert with as much curiosity as herself.

After remaining for some moments pensive and silent, the soldier
approached the bed, took a sheet from it, appeared to measure its length,
and then said, turning towards Mother Bunch: "The scissors!"

"But, M. Dagobert--"

"Come, my good girl! the scissors!" replied Dagobert, in a kind tone, but
one that commanded obedience. The sempstress took the scissors from
Frances' work-basket, and presented them to the soldier.

"Now, hold the other end of the sheet, my girl, and draw it out tight."

In a few minutes, Dagobert had cut the sheet into four strips, which he
twisted in the fashion of cords, fastening them here and there with bits
of tape, so as to preserve the twist, and tying them strongly together,
so as to make a rope of about twenty feet long. This, however, did not
suffice him, for he said to himself: "Now I must have a hook."

Again he looked around him, and Mother Bunch, more and more frightened,
for she now no longer doubted Dagobert's designs, said to him timidly:
"M. Dagobert, Agricola has not yet come in. It may be some good news that
makes him so late."

"Yes," said the soldier, bitterly, as he continued to cast round his eyes
in search of something he wanted; "good news like mine! But I must have a
strong iron hook."

Still looking about, he found one of the coarse, gray sacks, that Frances
was accustomed to make. He took it, opened it, and said to the work girl:
"Put me the iron bar and the cord into this bag, my girl. It will be
easier to carry."

"Heavens!" cried she, obeying his directions; "you will not go without
seeing Agricola, M. Dagobert? He may perhaps have some good news to tell
you."

"Be satisfied! I shall wait for my boy. I need not start before ten
o'clock--so I have time."

"Alas, M. Dagobert! have you last all hope?"

"On the contrary. I have good hope--but in myself."

So saying, Dagobert twisted the upper end of the sack, for the purpose of
closing it, and placed it on the drawers, by the side of his pistols.

"At all events, you will wait for Agricola, M. Dagobert?"

"Yes, if he arrives before ten o'clock."

"Alas; you have then quite made up your mind?"

"Quite. And yet, if I were weak enough to believe in bad omens--"

"Sometimes, M. Dagobert, omens do not deceive one," said the girl, hoping
to induce the soldier to abandon his dangerous resolution.

"Yes," resumed Dagobert; "old women say so--and, although I am not an old
woman, what I saw just now weighed heavily on my heart. After all, I may
have taken a feeling of anger for a presentiment."

"What have you seen?"

"I will tell it you, my good girl; it may help to pass the time, which
appears long enough." Then, interrupting himself, he exclaimed: "Was it
the half hour that just struck?"

"Yes, M. Dagobert; it is half-past eight."

"Still an hour and a half," said Dagobert, in a hollow voice. "This," he
added, "is what I saw. As I came along the street, my notice was
attracted by a large red placard, at the head of which was a black
panther devouring a white horse. That sight gave me a turn, for you must
know, my good girl, that a black panther destroyed a poor old white horse
that I had, Spoil-sport's companion, whose name was Jovial."

At the sound of this name, once so familiar, Spoil-sport, who was
crouching at the workwoman's feet, raised his head hastily, and looked at
Dagobert.

"You see that beasts have memory--he recollects," said the soldier,
sighing himself at the remembrance. Then, addressing his dog he added:
"Dost remember Jovial?"

On hearing this name a second time pronounced by his master, in a voice
of emotion, Spoil-sport gave a low whine, as if to indicate that he had
not forgotten his old travelling companion.

"It was, indeed, a melancholy incident, M. Dagobert," said Mother Bunch,
"to find upon this placard a panther devouring a horse."

"That is nothing to what's to come; you shall hear the rest. I drew near
the bill, and read in it, that one Morok, just arrived from Germany, is
about to exhibit in a theatre different wild beasts that he tamed, among
others a splendid lion, a tiger, and a black Java panther named Death."

"What an awful name!" said the hearer.

"You will think it more awful, my child, when I tell you, that this is
the very panther which strangled my horse at Leipsic, four months ago."

"Good Heaven! you are right, M. Dagobert," said the girl, "it is awful."

"Wait a little," said Dagobert, whose countenance was growing more and
more gloomy, "that is not all. It was by means of this very Morok, the
owner of the panther, that I and my poor children were imprisoned in
Leipsic."

"And this wicked man is in Paris, and wishes you evil?" said Mother
Bunch. "Oh! you are right, M. Dagobert; you must take care of yourself;
it is a bad omen."

"For him, if I catch him," said Dagobert, in a hollow tone. "We have old
accounts to settle."

"M. Dagobert," cried Mother Bunch, listening; "some one is running up the
stairs. It is Agricola's footsteps. I am sure he has good news."

"That will just do," said the soldier, hastily, without answering.
"Agricola is a smith. He will be able to find me the iron hook."

A few moments after, Agricola entered the room; but, alas! the sempstress
perceived at the first glance, in the dejected countenance of the
workman, the ruin of her cherished hopes.

"Well!" said Dagobert to his son, in a tone which clearly announced the
little faith he attached to the steps taken by Agricola; "well, what
news?"

"Father, it is enough to drive one mad--to make one dash one's brains out
against the wall!" cried the smith in a rage.

Dagobert turned towards Mother Bunch, and said: "You see, my poor
child--I was sure of it."

"Well, father," cried Agricola; "have you seen the Court de Montbron?"

"The Count de Montbron set out for Lorraine three days ago. That is my
good news," continued the soldier, with bitter irony; "let us have
yours--I long to know all. I need to know, if, on appealing to the laws,
which, as you told me, protect and defend honest people, it ever happens
that the rogues get the best of it. I want to know this, and then I want
an iron hook--so I count upon you for both."

"What do you mean, father?"

"First, tell me what you have done. We have time. It is not much more
than half-past eight. On leaving me, where did you go first?"

"To the commissary, who had already received your depositions."

"What did he say to you?"

"After having very kindly listened to all I had to state, he answered,
that these young girls were placed in a respectable house, a convent--so
that there did not appear any urgent necessity for their immediate
removal--and besides, he could not take upon himself to violate the
sanctity of a religious dwelling upon your simple testimony; to-morrow,
he will make his report to the proper authorities, and steps will be
taken accordingly."

"Yes, yes--plenty of put offs," said the soldier.

"'But, sir,' answered I to him," resumed Agricola, "'it is now, this very
night, that you ought to act, for if these young girls should not be
present to-morrow morning in the Rue Saint Francois, their interests may
suffer incalculable damage. 'I am very sorry for it,' replied he, 'but I
cannot, upon your simple declaration, or that of your father, who--like
yourself--is no relation or connection of these young persons, act in
direct opposition to forms, which could not be set aside, even on the
demand of a family. The law has its delays and its formalities, to which
we are obliged to submit.'"

"Certainly!" said Dagobert. "We must submit to them, at the risk of
becoming cowardly, ungrateful traitors!"

"Didst speak also of Mdlle. de Cardoville to him?" asked the work-girl.

"Yes--but he: answered me on this subject in much the same manner: 'It
was very serious; there was no proof in support of my deposition. A third
party had told me that Mdlle. de Cardoville affirms she was not mad; but
all mad people pretend to be sane. He could not, therefore, upon my sole
testimony, take upon himself to enter the house of a respectable
physician. But he would report upon it, and the law would have its
course--'"

"When I wished to act just now for myself," said Dagobert, "did I not
forsee all this? And yet I was weak enough to listen to you."

"But, father, what you wished to attempt was impossible, and you agreed
that it would expose you to far too dangerous consequences."

"So," resumed the soldier, without answering his son, "they told you in
plain terms, that we must not think of obtaining legally the release of
Rose and Blanche this evening or even to-morrow morning?"

"Yes, father. In the eyes of the law, there is no special urgency. The
question may not be decided for two or three days."

"That is all I wished to know," said Dagobert, rising and walking up and
down the room.

"And yet," resumed his son, "I did not consider myself beaten. In
despair, but believing that justice could not remain deaf to such
equitable claims, I ran to the Palais de Justice, hoping to find there a
judge, a magistrate who would receive my complaint, and act upon it."

"Well?" said the soldier, stopping him.

"I was told that the courts shut every day at five o'clock, and do not
open again til ten in the morning. Thinking of your despair, and of the
position of poor Mdlle. de Cardoville, I determined to make one more
attempt. I entered a guard-house of troops of the line, commanded by a
lieutenant. I told him all. He saw that I was so much moved, and I
spoke with such warmth and conviction, that he became interested.
--'Lieutenant,' said I to him, 'grant me one favor; let a petty officer
and two soldiers go to the convent to obtain a legal entrance. Let them
ask to see the daughters of Marshal Simon, and learn whether it is their
choice to remain, or return to my father, who brought them from Russia.
You will then see if they are not detained against their will--'"

"And what answer did he give you, Agricola?" asked Mother Bunch, while
Dagobert shrugged his shoulders, and continued to walk up and down.

"'My good fellow,' said he, 'what you ask me is impossible. I understand
your motives, but I cannot take upon myself so serious a measure. I
should be broke were I to enter a convent by force.--'Then, sir, what am
I to do? It is enough to turn one's head.'--'Faith, I don't know,' said
the lieutenant; 'it will be safest, I think, to wait.'--Then, believing I
had done all that was possible, father, I resolved to come back, in the
hope that you might have been more fortunate than I--but, alas! I was
deceived!"

So saying, the smith sank upon a chair, for he was worn out with anxiety
and fatigue. There was a moment of profound silence after these words of
Agricola, which destroyed the last hopes of the three, mute and crushed
beneath the strokes of inexorable fatality.

A new incident came to deepen the sad and painful character of this
scene.




CHAPTER XI.

DISCOVERIES.

The door which Agricola had not thought of fastening opened, as it were,
timidly, and Frances Baudoin, Dagobert's wife, pale, sinking, hardly able
to support herself, appeared on the threshold.

The soldier, Agricola, and Mother Bunch, were plunged in such deep
dejection, that neither of them at first perceived the entrance. Frances
advanced two steps into the room, fell upon her knees, clasped her hands
together, and said in a weak and humble voice; "My poor husband--pardon!"

At these words, Agricola and the work-girl--whose backs were towards the
door--turned round suddenly, and Dagobert hastily raised his head.

"My mother!" cried Agricola, running to Frances.

"My wife!" cried Dagobert, as he also rose, and advanced to meet the
unfortunate woman.

"On your knees, dear mother!" said Agricola, stooping down to embrace her
affectionately. "Get up, I entreat you!"

"No, my child," said Frances, in her mild, firm accents, "I will not
rise, till your father has forgiven me. I have wronged him much--now I
know it."

"Forgive you, my poor wife?" said the soldier, as he drew near with
emotion. "Have I ever accused you, except in my first transport of
despair? No, no; it was the bad priests that I accused, and there I was
right. Well! I have you again," added he, assisting his son to raise
Frances; "one grief the less. They have then restored you to liberty?
Yesterday, I could not even learn in what prison they had put you. I have
so many cares that I could not think of you only. But come, dear wife:
sit down!"

"How feeble you are, dear mother!--how cold--how pale!" said Agricola
with anguish, his eyes filling with tears.

"Why did you not let us know?" added he. "We would have gone to fetch
you. But how you tremble! Your hands are frozen!" continued the smith, as
he knelt down before Frances. Then, turning towards Mother Bunch: "Pray,
make a little fire directly."

"I thought of it, as soon as your father came in, Agricola, but there is
no wood nor charcoal left."

"Then pray borrow some of Father Loriot, my dear sister. He is too good a
fellow to refuse. My poor mother trembles so--she might fall ill."

Hardly had he said the words, than Mother Bunch went out. The smith rose
from the ground, took the blanket from the bed, and carefully wrapped it
about the knees and feet of his mother. Then, again kneeling down, he
said to her: "Your hands, dear mother!" and, taking those feeble palms in
his own, he tried to warm them with his breath.

Nothing could be more touching than this picture: the robust young man,
with his energetic and resolute countenance, expressing by his looks the
greatest tenderness, and paying the most delicate attentions to his poor,
pale, trembling old mother.

Dagobert, kind-hearted as his son, went to fetch a pillow, and brought it
to his wife, saying: "Lean forward a little, and I will put this pillow
behind you; you will be more comfortable and warmer."

"How you both spoil me!" said Frances, trying to smile. "And you to be so
kind, after all the ill I have done!" added she to Dagobert, as,
disengaging one of her hands from those of her son, she took the
soldier's hand and pressed it to her tearful eyes. "In prison," said she
in a low voice, "I had time to repent."

Agricola's heart was near breaking at the thought that his pious and good
mother, with her angelic purity, should for a moment have been confined
in prison with so many miserable creatures. He would have made some
attempt to console her on the subject of the painful past, but he feared
to give a new shock to Dagobert, and was silent.

"Where is Gabriel, dear mother?" inquired he. "How is he? As you have
seen him, tell us all about him."

"I have seen Gabriel," said Frances, drying her tears; "he is confined at
home. His superiors have rigorously forbidden his going out. Luckily,
they did not prevent his receiving me, for his words and counsels have
opened my eyes to many things. It is from him that I learned how guilty I
had been to you, my poor husband."

"How so?" asked Dagobert.

"Why, you know that if I caused you so much grief, it was not from
wickedness. When I saw you in such despair, I suffered almost as much
myself; but I durst not tell you so, for fear of breaking my oath. I had
resolved to keep it, believing that I did well, believing that it was my
duty. And yet something told me that it could not be my duty to cause you
so much pain. 'Alas, my God! enlighten me!' I exclaimed in my prison, as
I knelt down and prayed, in spite of the mockeries of the other women.
'Why should a just and pious work, commanded by my confessor, the most
respectable of men, overwhelm me and mine with so much misery? 'Have
mercy on me, my God, and teach me if I have done wrong without knowing
it!' As I prayed with fervor, God heard me, and inspired me with the idea
of applying to Gabriel. 'I thank Thee, Father! I will obey!' said I
within myself. 'Gabriel is like my own child; but he is also a priest, a
martyr--almost a saint. If any one in the world imitates the charity of
our blessed Saviour, it is surely he. When I leave this prison, I will go
and consult him and he will clear up my doubts.'"

"You are right, dear mother," cried Agricola; "it was a thought from
heaven. Gabriel is an angel of purity, courage, nobleness--the type of
the true and good priest!"