by Eugène Sue
CHAPTER XXV. THE SHIPWRECK.
While the bailiff was gone to the sea-shore, to render help to those ofthe passengers who might escape from the inevitable shipwreck, M.Rodin, conducted by Catherine to the Green Chamber, had there found thearticles that he was to take with him to Paris.
After passing two hours in this apartment, very indifferent to the fateof the shipwrecked persons, which alone absorbed the attention ofthe inhabitants of the Castle, Rodin returned to the chamber commonlyoccupied by the bailiff, a room which opened upon a long gallery. Whenhe entered it he found nobody there. Under his arm he held a casket,with silver fastenings, almost black from age, whilst one end of alarge red morocco portfolio projected from the breast-pocket of his halfbuttoned great coat.
Had the cold and livid countenance of the Abbe d'Aigrigny's secretarybeen able to express joy otherwise than by a sarcastic smile, hisfeatures would have been radiant with delight; for, just then, he wasunder the influence of the most agreeable thoughts. Having placedthe casket upon a table, it was with marked satisfaction that he thuscommuned with himself:
"All goes well. It was prudent to keep these papers here till thismoment, for one must always be on guard against the diabolical spirit ofthat Adrienne de Cardoville, who appears to guess instinctively what itis impossible she should know. Fortunately, the time approaches when weshall have no more need to fear her. Her fate will be a cruel one; itmust be so. Those proud, independent characters are at all times ournatural enemies--they are so by their very essence--how much more whenthey show themselves peculiarly hurtful and dangerous! As for La SainteColombe, the bailiff is sure to act for us; between what the foolcalls his conscience, and the dread of being at his age deprived of alivelihood, he will not hesitate. I wish to have him because he willserve us better than a stranger; his having been here twenty years willprevent all suspicion on the part of that dull and narrow-minded woman.Once in the hands of our man at Roiville, I will answer for the result.The course of all such gross and stupid women is traced beforehand:in their youth, they serve the devil; in riper years, they make othersserve him; in their old age, they are horribly afraid of him; and thisfear must continue till she has left us the Chateau de Cardoville,which, from its isolated position, will make us an excellent college.All then goes well. As for the affair of the medals, the 13th ofFebruary approaches, without news from Joshua--evidently, Prince Djalmais still kept prisoner by the English in the heart of India, or I musthave received letters from Batavia. The daughters of General Simon willbe detained at Leipsic for at least a month longer. All our foreignrelations are in the best condition. As for our internal affairs--"
Here M. Rodin was interrupted in the current of his reflections by theentrance of Madame Dupont, who was zealously engaged in preparations togive assistance in case of need.
"Now," said she to the servant, "light a fire in the next room; put thiswarm wine there; your master may be in every minute."
"Well, my dear madam," said Rodin to her, "do they hope to save any ofthese poor creatures?"
"Alas! I do not know, sir. My husband has been gone nearly two hours. Iam terribly uneasy on his account. He is so courageous, so imprudent, ifonce he thinks he can be of any service."
"Courageous even to imprudence," said Rodin to himself, impatiently; "Ido not like that."
"Well," resumed Catherine, "I have here at hand my hot linen, mycordials--heaven grant it may all be of use!"
"We may at least hope so, my dear madam. I very much regretted that myage and weakness did not permit me to assist your excellent husband. Ialso regret not being able to wait for the issue of his exertions,and to wish him joy if successful--for I am unfortunately compelled todepart, my moments are precious. I shall be much obliged if you willhave the carriage got ready."
"Yes, Sir; I will see about it directly."
"One word, my dear, good Madame Dupont. You are a woman of sense, andexcellent judgment. Now I have put your husband in the way to keep, ifhe will, his situation as bailiff of the estate--"
"Is it possible? What gratitude do we not owe you! Without this placewhat would become of us at our time of life?"
"I have only saddled my promise with two conditions--mere trifles--hewill explain all that to you."
"Ah, sir! we shall regard you as our deliverer."
"You are too good. Only, on two little conditions--"
"If there were a hundred, sir we should gladly accept them. Think whatwe should be without this place--penniless--absolutely penniless!"
"I reckon upon you then; for the interest of your husband, you will tryto persuade him."
"Missus! I say, missus! here's master come back," cried a servant,rushing into the chamber.
"Has he many with him?"
"No, missus; he is alone."
"Alone! alone?"
"Quite alone, missus."
A few moments after, M. Dupont entered the room; his clothes werestreaming with water; to keep his hat on in the midst of the storm, hehad tied it down to his head by means of his cravat, which was knottedunder his chin; his gaiters were covered with chalky stains.
"There I have thee, my dear love!" cried his wife, tenderly embracinghim. "I have been so uneasy!"
"Up to the present moment--THREE SAVED."
"God be praised, my dear M. Dupont!" said Rodin; "at least your effortswill not have been all in vain."
"Three, only three?" said Catherine. "Gracious heaven!"
"I only speak of those I saw myself, near the little creek of Goelands.Let us hope there may be more saved on other parts of the coast."
"Yes, indeed; happily, the shore is not equally steep in all parts."
"And where are these interesting sufferers, my dear sir?" asked Rodin,who could not avoid remaining a few instants longer.
"They are mounting the cliffs, supported by our people. As they cannotwalk very fast, I ran on before to console my wife, and to take thenecessary measures for their reception. First of all, my dear, you mustget ready some women's clothes."
"There is then a woman amongst the persons saved?"
"There are two girls--fifteen or sixteen years of age at the most--merechildren--and so pretty!"
"Poor little things!" said Rodin, with an affectation of interest.
"The person to whom they owe their lives is with them. He is a realhero!"
"A hero?"
"Yes; only fancy--"
"You can tell me all this by and by. Just slip on this dry warmdressing-gown, and take some of this hot wine. You are wet through."
"I'll not refuse, for I am almost frozen to death. I was telling youthat the person who saved these young girls was a hero; and certainlyhis courage was beyond anything one could have imagined. When I lefthere with the men of the farm, we descended the little winding path,and arrived at the foot of the cliff--near the little creek of Goelands,fortunately somewhat sheltered from the waves by five or six enormousmasses of rock stretching out into the sea. Well, what should we findthere? Why, the two young girls I spoke of, in a swoon, with their feetstill in the water, and their bodies resting against a rock, as thoughthey had been placed there by some one, after being withdrawn from thesea."
"Dear children! it is quite touching!" said M. Rodin, raising, as usual,the tip of his little finger to the corner of his right eye, as thoughto dry a tear, which was very seldom visible.
"What struck me was their great resemblance to each other," resumedthe bailiff; "only one in the habit of seeing them could tell thedifference."
"Twin--sisters, no doubt," said Madame Dupont.
"One of the poor things," continued the bailiff, "held between herclasped hands a little bronze medal, which was suspended from her neckby a chain of the same material."
Rodin generally maintained a very stooping posture; but at these lastwords of the bailiff, he drew himself up suddenly, whilst a faint colorspread itself over his livid cheeks. In any other person, these symptomswould have appeared of little consequence; but in Rodin, accustomed forlong
years to control and dissimulate his emotions, they announcedno ordinary excitement. Approaching the bailiff, he said to him in aslightly agitated voice, but still with an air of indifference: "It wasdoubtless a pious relic. Did you see what was inscribed on this medal?"
"No, sir; I did not think of it."
"And the two young girls were like one another--very much like, yousay?"
"So like, that one would hardly know which was which. Probably they areorphans, for they are dressed in mourning."
"Oh! dressed in mourning?" said M. Rodin, with another start.
"Alas! orphans so young!" said Madame Dupont, wiping her eyes.
"As they had fainted away, we carried them further on to a place wherethe sand was quite dry. While we were busy about this, we saw the headof a man appear from behind one of the rocks, which he was trying toclimb, clinging to it by one hand; we ran to him, and luckily in thenick of time, for he was clean worn out, and fell exhausted into thearms of our men. It was of him I spoke when I talked of a hero; for, notcontent with having saved the two young girls by his admirable courage,he had attempted to rescue a third person, and had actually gone backamongst the rocks and breakers--but his strength failed him, and,without the aid of our men, he would certainly have been washed awayfrom the ridge to which he clung."
"He must indeed be a fine fellow!" said Catherine.
Rodin, with his head bowed upon his breast, seemed quite indifferent tothis conversation. The dismay and stupor, in which he had been plunged,only increased upon reflection. The two girls, who had just been saved,were fifteen years of age; were dressed in mourning; were so like, thatone might be taken for the other; one of them wore round her neck achain with a bronze medal; he could scarcely doubt that they were thedaughters of General Simon. But how could those sisters be amongst thenumber of shipwrecked passengers? How could they have escaped from theprison at Leipsic? How did it happen, that he had not been informed ofit? Could they have fled, or had they been set at liberty? How wasit possible that he should not be apprise of such an event? But thesesecondary thoughts, which offered themselves in crowds to the mind ofM. Rodin, were swallowed up in the one fact: "the daughters of GeneralSimon are here!"--His plan, so laboriously laid, was thus entirelydestroyed.
"When I speak of the deliverer of these young girls," resumed thebailiff, addressing his wife, and without remarking M. Rodin's absenceof mind, "you are expecting no doubt to see a Hercules?--well, he isaltogether the reverse. He is almost a boy in look, with fair, sweetface, and light, curling locks. I left him a cloak to cover him, for hehad nothing on but his shirt, black knee-breeches, and a pair of blackworsted stockings--which struck me as singular."
"Why, it was certainly not a sailor's dress."
"Besides, though the ship was English, I believe my hero is a Frenchman,for he speaks our language as well as we do. What brought the tears tomy eyes, was to see the young girls, when they came to themselves. Assoon as they saw him, they threw themselves at his feet, and seemed tolook up to him and thank him, as one would pray. Then they cast theireyes around them, as if in search of some other person, and, havingexchanged a few words, they fell sobbing into each other's arms."
"What a dreadful thing it is! How many poor creatures must haveperished!"
"When we quitted the rocks, the sea had already cast ashore seven deadbodies, besides fragments of the wrecks, and packages. I spoke to someof the coast-guard, and they will remain all day on the look-out; andif, as I hope, any more should escape with life, they are to bebrought here. But surely that is the sound of voices!--yes, it is ourshipwrecked guests!"
The bailiff and his wife ran to the door of the room--that door, whichopened on the long gallery--whilst Rodin, biting convulsively his flatnails, awaited with angry impatience the arrival of the strangers. Atouching picture soon presented itself to his view.
From the end of the dark some gallery, only lighted on one side byseveral windows, three persons, conducted by a peasant, advanced slowly.This group consisted of the two maidens, and the intrepid young manto whom they owed their lives. Rose and Blanche were on either side oftheir deliverer, who, walking with great difficulty, supported himselflightly on their arms.
Though he was full twenty-five years of age, the juvenile countenanceof this man made him appear younger. His long, fair hair, parted onthe forehead, streamed wet and smooth over the collar of a large browncloak, with which he had been covered. It would be difficult to describethe adorable expression of goodness in his pale, mild face, as pure asthe most ideal creations of Raphael's pencil--for that divine artistalone could have caught the melancholy grace of those exquisitefeatures, the serenity of that celestial look, from eyes limpid and blueas those of an archangel, or of a martyr ascended to the skies.
Yes, of a martyr! for a blood-red halo already encircled that beauteoushead. Piteous sight to see! just above his light eyebrows, and renderedstill more visible by the effect of the cold, a narrow cicatrix, froma wound inflicted many months before, appeared to encompass his fairforehead with a purple band; and (still more sad!) his hands hadbeen cruelly pierced by a crucifixion--his feet had suffered the sameinjury--and, if he now walked with so much difficulty, it was that hiswounds had reopened, as he struggled over the sharp rocks.
This young man was Gabriel, the priest attached to the foreign mission,the adopted son of Dagobert's wife. He was a priest and martyr--for, inour days, there are still martyrs, as in the time when the Caesars flungthe early Christians to the lions and tigers of the circus.
Yes, in our days, the children of the people--for it is almost alwaysamongst them that heroic and disinterested devotion may still befound--the children of the people, led by an honorable conviction,because it is courageous and sincere, go to all parts of the world, totry and propagate their faith, and brave both torture and death with themost unpretending valor.
How many of them, victims of some barbarous tribe, have perished,obscure and unknown, in the midst of the solitudes of the twoworlds!--And for these humble soldiers of the cross, who have nothingbut their faith and their intrepidity, there is never reserved on theirreturn (and they seldom do return) the rich and sumptuous dignities ofthe church. Never does the purple or the mitre conceal their scarredbrows and mutilated limbs; like the great majority of other soldiers,they die forgotten.(8)
In their ingenuous gratitude, the daughters of General Simon, as soonas they recovered their senses after the shipwreck, and felt themselvesable to ascend the cliffs, would not leave to any other person thecare of sustaining the faltering steps of him who had rescued them fromcertain death.
The black garments of Rose and Blanche streamed with water; their faceswere deadly pale, and expressive of deep grief; the marks of recenttears were on their cheeks, and, with sad, downcast eyes, they trembledboth from agitation and cold, as the agonizing thought recurred to them,that they should never again see Dagobert, their friend and guide; forit was to him that Gabriel had stretched forth a helping hand, to assisthim to climb the rocks. Unfortunately the strength of both had failed,and the soldier had been carried away by a retreating wave.
The sight of Gabriel was a fresh surprise for Rodin, who had retired onone side, in order to observe all; but this surprise was of so pleasanta nature, and he felt so much joy in beholding the missionary safe aftersuch imminent peril, that the painful impression, caused by the viewof General Simon's daughters, was a little softened. It must notbe forgotten, that the presence of Gabriel in Paris, on the 13th ofFebruary, was essential to the success of Rodin's projects.
The bailiff and his wife, who were greatly moved at sight of theorphans, approached them with eagerness. Just then a farm-boy enteredthe room, crying: "Sir! sir! good news--two more saved from the wreck!"
"Blessing and praise to God for it!" said the missionary.
"Where are they?" asked the bailiff, hastening towards the door.
"There is one who can walk, and is following behind me with Justin;the other was wounded against the rocks, and they are
carrying him on alitter made of branches."
"I will run and have him placed in the room below," said the bailiff, ashe went out. "Catherine, you can look to the young ladies."
"And the shipwrecked man who can walk--where is he?" asked the bailiff'swife.
"Here he is," said the peasant, pointing to some one who came rapidlyalong the gallery; "when he heard that the two young ladies were safein the chateau--though he is old, and wounded in the head, he took suchgreat strides, that it was all I could do to get here before him."
Hardly had the peasant pronounced these words, when Rose and Blanche,springing up by a common impulse, flew to the door. They arrived thereat the same moment as Dagobert.
The soldier, unable to utter a syllable, fell on his knees at thethreshold, and extended his arms to the daughters of General Simon;while Spoil-sport, running to them licked their hands.
But the emotion was too much for Dagobert; and, when he had clasped theorphans in his arms, his head fell backward, and he would have sunkdown altogether, but for the care of the peasants. In spite of theobservations of the bailiff's wife, on their state of weakness andagitation, the two young girls insisted on accompanying Dagobert, whowas carried fainting into an adjoining apartment.
At sight of the soldier, Rodin's face was again violently contracted,for he had till then believed that the guide of General Simon'sdaughters was dead. The missionary, worn out with fatigue, was leaningupon a chair, and had not yet perceived Rodin.
A new personage, a man with a dead yellow complexion, now entered theroom, accompanied by another peasant, who pointed out Gabriel to him.This man, who had just borrowed a smock-frock and a pair of trousers,approached the missionary, and said to him in French but with a foreignaccent: "Prince Djalma has just been brought in here. His first word wasto ask for you."
"What does that man say?" cried Rodin, in a voice of thunder; for, atthe name of Djalma, he had sprung with one bound to Gabriel's side.
"M. Rodin!" exclaimed the missionary, falling back in surprise.
"M. Rodin," cried the other shipwrecked person; and from that moment, hekept his eye fixed on the correspondent of M. Van Dael.
"You here, sir?" said Gabriel, approaching Rodin with an air ofdeference, not unmixed with fear.
"What did that man say to you?" repeated Rodin, in an excited tone. "Didhe not utter the name of Prince Djalma?"
"Yes, sir; Prince Djalma was one of the passengers on board the Englishship, which came from Alexandria, and in which we have just beenwrecked. This vessel touched at the Azores, where I then was; the shipthat brought me from Charlestown having been obliged to put in there,and being likely to remain for some time, on account of serious damage,I embarked on board the 'Black Eagle,' where I met Prince Djalma. Wewere bound to Portsmouth, and from thence my intention was to proceed toFrance."
Rodin did not care to interrupt Gabriel. This new shock had completelyparalyzed his thoughts. At length, like a man who catches at a lasthope, which he knows beforehand to be vain, he said to Gabriel: "Can youtell me who this Prince Djalma is?"
"A young man as good as brave--the son of an East Indian king,dispossessed of his territory by the English."
Then, turning towards the other shipwrecked man, the missionary saidto him with anxious interest: "How is the Prince? are his woundsdangerous?"
"They are serious contusions, but they will not be mortal," answered theother.
"Heaven be praised!" said the missionary, addressing Rodin; "here, yousee, is another saved."
"So much the better," observed Rodin, in a quick, imperious tone.
"I will go see him," said Gabriel, submissively. "You have no orders togive me?"
"Will you be able to leave this place in two or three hours,notwithstanding your fatigue?"
"If it be necessary--yes."
"It is necessary. You will go with me."
Gabriel only bowed in reply, and Rodin sank confounded into a chair,while the missionary went out with the peasant. The man with the sallowcomplexion still lingered in a corner of the room, unperceived by Rodin.
This man was Faringhea, the half-caste, one of the three chiefs of theStranglers. Having escaped the pursuit of the soldiers in the ruinsof Tchandi, he had killed Mahal the Smuggler, and robbed him of thedespatches written by M. Joshua Van Dael to Rodin, as also of the letterby which the smuggler was to have been received as passenger on boardthe "Ruyter." When Faringhea left the hut in the ruins of Tchandi,he had not been seen by Djalma; and the latter, when he met him onshipboard, after his escape (which we shall explain by and by), notknowing that he belonged to the sect of Phansegars, treated him duringthe voyage as a fellow-countryman.
Rodin, with his eye fixed and haggard, his countenance of a livid hue,biting his nails to the quick in silent rage, did not perceive the halfcaste, who quietly approached him and laying his hand familiarly on hisshoulder, said to him: "Your name is Rodin?"
"What now?" asked the other, starting, and raising his head abruptly.
"Your name is Rodin?" repeated Faringhea.
"Yes. What do you want?"
"You live in the Rue du Milieu-des-Ursins, Paris?"
"Yes. But, once more, what do you want?"
"Nothing now, brother: hereafter, much!"
And Faringhea, retiring, with slow steps, left Rodin alarmed at whathad passed; for this man, who scarcely trembled at anything, had quailedbefore the dark look and grim visage of the Strangler.
(8) We always remember with emotion the end of a letter written, two orthree years ago, by one of these young and valiant missionaries, the sonof poor parents in Beauce. He was writing to his mother from the heartof Japan, and thus concluded his letter: "Adieu, my dear mother! theysay there is much danger where I am now sent to. Pray for me, and tellall our good neighbors that I think of them very often." These fewwords, addressed from the centre of Asia to poor peasants in a hamlet ofFrance, are only the more touching from their very simplicity--E. S.