Le Juif errant. English

by Eugène Sue

  CHAPTER XXIX. AGRICOLA BAUDOIN.

  Our blacksmith poet, a tall young man, about four-and-twenty years ofage, was alert and robust, with ruddy complexion, dark hair and eyes,and aquiline nose, and an open, expressive countenance. His resemblanceto Dagobert was rendered more striking by the thick brown moustachewhich he wore according to the fashion; and a sharp-pointed imperialcovered his chin. His cheeks, however, were shaven, Olive colorvelveteen trousers, a blue blouse, bronzed by the forge smoke, a blackcravat, tied carelessly round his muscular neck, a cloth cap witha narrow vizor, composed his dress. The only thing which contrastedsingularly with his working habiliments was a handsome purple flower,with silvery pistils, which he held in his hand.

  "Good-evening, mother," said he, as he came to kiss Frances immediately.

  Then, with a friendly nod, he added, "Good-evening, Mother Bunch."

  "You are very late, my child," said Frances, approaching the littlestove on which her son's simple meal was simmering; "I was getting veryanxious."

  "Anxious about me, or about my supper, dear mother?" said Agricola,gayly. "The deuce! you won't excuse me for keeping the nice littlesupper waiting that you get ready for me, for fear it should be spoilt,eh?"

  So saying, the blacksmith tried to kiss his mother again.

  "Have done, you naughty boy; you'll make me upset the pan."

  "That would be a pity, mother; for it smells delightfully. Let's seewhat it is."

  "Wait half a moment."

  "I'll swear, now, you have some of the fried potatoes and bacon I'm sofond of."

  "Being Saturday, of course!" said Frances, in a tone of mild reproach.

  "True," rejoined Agricola, exchanging a smile of innocent cunning withMother Bunch; "but, talking of Saturday, mother, here are my wages."

  "Thank ye, child; put the money in the cupboard."

  "Yes, mother!"

  "Oh, dear!" cried the young sempstress, just as Agricola was aboutto put away the money, "what a handsome flower you have in your hand,Agricola. I never saw a finer. In winter, too! Do look at it, Mrs.Baudoin."

  "See there, mother," said Agricola, taking the flower to her; "lookat it, admire it, and especially smell it. You can't have a sweeterperfume; a blending of vanilla and orange blossom."

  "Indeed, it does smell nice, child. Goodness! how handsome!" saidFrances, admiringly; "where did you find it?"

  "Find it, my good mother!" repeated Agricola, smilingly: "do you thinkfolks pick up such things between the Barriere du Maine and the RueBrise-Miche?"

  "How did you get it then?" inquired the sewing girl, sharing inFrances's curiosity.

  "Oh! you would like to know? Well, I'll satisfy you, and explain whyI came home so late; for something else detained me. It has been anevening of adventures, I promise you. I was hurrying home, when I hearda low, gentle barking at the corner of the Rue de Babylone; it was justabout dusk, and I could see a very pretty little dog, scarce bigger thanmy fist, black and tan, with long, silky hair, and ears that covered itspaws."

  "Lost, poor thing, I warrant," said Frances.

  "You've hit it. I took up the poor thing, and it began to lick my hands.Round its neck was a red satin ribbon, tied in a large bow; but as thatdid not bear the master's name, I looked beneath it, and saw a smallcollar, made of a gold plate and small gold chains. So I took a Lucifermatch from my 'bacco-box, and striking a light, I read, 'FRISKY belongsto Hon. Miss Adrienne de Cardoville, No. 7, Rue de Babylone.'"

  "Why, you were just in the street," said Mother Bunch.

  "Just so. Taking the little animal under my arm, I looked about me tillI came to a long garden wall, which seemed to have no end, and found asmall door of a summer-house, belonging no doubt to the large mansion atthe other end of the park; for this garden looked just like a park. So,looking up I saw 'No. 7,' newly painted over a little door with a gratedslide. I rang; and in a few minutes, spent, no doubt, in observing methrough the bars (for I am sure I saw a pair of eyes peeping through),the gate opened. And now, you'll not believe a word I have to say."

  "Why not, my child?"

  "Because it seems like a fairy tale."

  "A fairy tale?" said Mother Bunch, as if she was really her namesake ofelfish history.

  "For, all the world it does. I am quite astounded, even now, at myadventure; it is like the remembrance of a dream."

  "Well, let us have it," said the worthy mother, so deeply interestedthat she did not perceive her son's supper was beginning to burn.

  "First," said the blacksmith, smiling at the curiosity he had excited,"a young lady opened the door to me, but so lovely, so beautifullyand gracefully dressed, that you would have taken her for a beautifulportrait of past times. Before I could say a word, she exclaimed, 'Ah!dear me, sir, you have brought back Frisky; how happy Miss Adriennewill be! Come, pray come in instantly; she would so regret not havingan opportunity to thank you in person!' And without giving me time toreply, she beckoned me to follow her. Oh, dear mother, it is quite outof my power to tell you, the magnificence I saw, as I passed througha small saloon, partially lighted, and full of perfume! It would beimpossible. The young woman walked too quickly. A door opened,--Oh, sucha sight! I was so dazzled I can remember nothing but a great glare ofgold and light, crystal and flowers; and, amidst all this brilliancy,a young lady of extreme beauty--ideal beauty; but she had red hair, orrather hair shining like gold! Oh! it was charming to look at! I neversaw such hair before. She had black eyes, ruddy lips, and her skinseemed white as snow. This is all I can recollect: for, as I saidbefore, I was so dazzled, I seemed to be looking through a veil.'Madame,' said the young woman, whom I never should have taken fora lady's-maid, she was dressed so elegantly, 'here is Frisky. Thisgentleman found him, and brought him back.' 'Oh, sir,' said the younglady with the golden hair, in a sweet silvery voice, 'what thanks I oweyou! I am foolishly attached to Frisky.' Then, no doubt, concluding frommy dress that she ought to thank me in some other way than by words, shetook up a silk purse, and said to me, though I must confess with somehesitation--'No doubt, sir, it gave you some trouble to bring my petback. You have, perhaps, lost some valuable time--allow me--' She heldforth her purse."

  "Oh, Agricola," said Mother Bunch, sadly; "how people may be deceived!"

  "Hear the end, and you will perhaps forgive the young lady. Seeing bymy looks that the offer of the purse hurt me, she took a magnificentporcelain vase that contained this flower, and, addressing me in a tonefull of grace and kindness, that left me room to guess that she wasvexed at having wounded me, she said--'At least, sir, you will acceptthis flower.'"

  "You are right, Agricola," said the girl, smiling sadly; "an involuntaryerror could not be repaired in a nicer way.

  "Worthy young lady," said Frances, wiping her eyes; "how well sheunderstood my Agricola!"

  "Did she not, mother? But just as I was taking the flower, withoutdaring to raise my eyes (for, notwithstanding the young lady's kindmanner, there was something very imposing about her) another handsomegirl, tall and dark, and dressed to the top of fashion, came in and saidto the red-haired young lady, 'He is here, Madame.' She immediately roseand said to me, 'A thousand pardons, sir. I shall never forget that Iam indebted to you for a moment of much pleasure. Pray remember, on alloccasions, my address and name--Adrienne de Cardoville.' Thereupon shedisappeared. I could not find a word to say in reply. The same youngwoman showed me to the door, and curtseyed to me very politely. Andthere I stood in the Rue de Babylone, as dazzled and astonished as if Ihad come out of an enchanted palace."

  "Indeed, my child, it is like a fairy tale. Is it not, my poor girl?"

  "Yes, ma'am," said Mother Bunch, in an absent manner that Agricola didnot observe.

  "What affected me most," rejoined Agricola, "was, that the young lady,on seeing her little dog, did not forget me for it, as many wouldhave done in her place, and took no notice of it before me. That showsdelicacy and feeling, does it not? Indeed, I believe this young lady tobe so kind and generous, that I should not
hesitate to have recourse toher in any important case."

  "Yes, you are right," replied the sempstress, more and more absent.

  The poor girl suffered extremely. She felt no jealousy, no hatred,towards this young stranger, who, from her beauty, wealth, and delicacy,seemed to belong to a sphere too splendid and elevated to be evenwithin the reach of a work, girl's vision; but, making an involuntarycomparison of this fortunate condition with her own, the poor thing hadnever felt more cruelly her deformity and poverty. Yet such were thehumility and gentle resignation of this noble creature, that the onlything which made her feel ill-disposed towards Adrienne de Cardovillewas the offer of the purse to Agricola; but then the charming way inwhich the young lady had atoned for her error, affected the sempstressdeeply. Yet her heart was ready to break. She could not restrain hertears as she contemplated the magnificent flower--so rich in color andperfume, which, given by a charming hand, was doubtless very precious toAgricola.

  "Now, mother," resumed the young man smilingly, and unaware of thepainful emotion of the other bystander, "you have had the cream of myadventures first. I have told you one of the causes of my delay; and nowfor the other. Just now, as I was coming in, I met the dyer at the footof the stairs, his arms a beautiful pea-green. Stopping me he said, withan air full of importance, that he thought he had seen a chap sneakingabout the house like a spy, 'Well, what is that to you, Daddy Loriot?'said I: 'are you afraid he will nose out the way to make the beautifulgreen, with which you are dyed up to the very elbows?'"

  "But who could that man be, Agricola?" said Frances.

  "On my word, mother, I don't know and scarcely care; I tried to persuadeDaddy Loriot, who chatters like a magpie, to return to his cellar, sinceit could signify as little to him as to me, whether a spy watched himor not." So saying, Agricola went and placed the little leathern sack,containing his wages, on a shelf, in the cupboard.

  As Frances put down the saucepan on the end of the table, Mother Bunch,recovering from her reverie, filled a basin with water, and, takingit to the blacksmith, said to him in a gentle tone-"Agricola--for yourhands."

  "Thank you, little sister. How kind you are!" Then with a mostunaffected gesture and tone, he added, "There is my fine flower for yourtrouble."

  "Do you give it me?" cried the sempstress, with emotion, while a vividblush colored her pale and interesting face. "Do you give me thishandsome flower, which a lovely rich young lady so kindly and graciouslygave you?" And the poor thing repeated, with growing astonishment, "Doyou give it to me?"

  "What the deuce should I do with it? Wear it on my heart, have it set asa pin?" said Agricola, smiling. "It is true I was very much impressed bythe charming way in which the young lady thanked me. I am delighted tothink I found her little dog, and very happy to be able to give you thisflower, since it pleases you. You see the day has been a happy one."

  While Mother Bunch, trembling with pleasure, emotion, and surprise, tookthe flower, the young blacksmith washed his hands, so black with smokeand steel filings that the water became dark in an instant. Agricola,pointing out this change to the sempstress, said to her in a whisper,laughing,-"Here's cheap ink for us paper-stainers! I finished someverses yesterday, which I am rather satisfied with. I will read them toyou."

  With this, Agricola wiped his hands naturally on the front of hisblouse, while Mother Bunch replaced the basin on the chest of drawers,and laid the flower against the side of it.

  "Can't you ask for a towel," said Frances, shrugging her shoulders,"instead of wiping your hands on your blouse?"

  "After being scorched all day long at the forge, it will be all thebetter for a little cooling to-night, won't it? Am I disobedient,mother? Scold me, then, if you dare! Come, let us see you."

  Frances made no reply; but, placing her hands on either side of herson's head, so beautiful in its candor, resolution and intelligence, shesurveyed him for a moment with maternal pride, and kissed him repeatedlyon the forehead.

  "Come," said she, "sit down: you stand all day at your forge, and it islate."

  "So,--your arm-chair again!" said Agricola.--"Our usual quarrel everyevening--take it away, I shall be quite as much at ease on another."

  "No, no! You ought at least to rest after your hard toil."

  "What tyranny!" said Agricola gayly, sitting down. "Well, I preach likea good apostle; but I am quite at ease in your arm-chair, after all.Since I sat down on the throne in the Tuileries, I have never had abetter seat."

  Frances Baudoin, standing on one side of the table, cut a slice of breadfor her son, while Mother Bunch, on the other, filled his silver mug.There was something affecting in the attentive eagerness of the twoexcellent creatures, for him whom they loved so tenderly.

  "Won't you sup with me?" said Agricola to the girl.

  "Thank you, Agricola," replied the sempstress, looking down, "I haveonly just dined."

  "Oh, I only ask you for form's sake--you have your whims--we can neverprevail on you to eat with us--just like mother; she prefers dining allalone; and in that way she deprives herself without my knowing it."

  "Goodness, child! It is better for my health to dine early. Well, do youfind it nice?"

  "Nice!--call it excellent! Stockfish and parsnips. Oh, I am very fond ofstockfish; I should have been born a Newfoundland fisherman."

  This worthy lad, on the contrary, was but poorly refreshed, after a hardday's toil, with this paltry stew,--a little burnt as it had been, too,during his story; but he knew he pleased his mother by observing thefast without complaining. He affected to enjoy his meal; and the goodwoman accordingly observed with satisfaction:

  "Oh, I see you like it, my dear boy; Friday and Saturday next we'll havesome more."

  "Thank you, mother,--only not two days together. One gets tiredof luxuries, you know! And now, let us talk of what we shall doto-morrow--Sunday. We must be very merry, for the last few days youseem very sad, dear mother, and I can't make it out--I fancy you are notsatisfied with me."

  "Oh, my dear child!--you--the pattern of--"

  "Well, well! Prove to me that you are happy, then, by taking a littleamusement. Perhaps you will do us the honor of accompanying us, as youdid last time," added Agricola, bowing to Mother Bunch.

  The latter blushed and looked down; her face assumed an expression ofbitter grief, and she made no reply.

  "I have the prayers to attend all day, you know, my dear child," saidFrances to her son.

  "Well, in the evening, then? I don't propose the theatre; but they saythere is a conjurer to be seen whose tricks are very amusing.

  "I am obliged to you, my son; but that is a kind of theatre."

  "Dear mother, this is unreasonable!"

  "My dear child, do I ever hinder others from doing what they like?"

  "True, dear mother; forgive me. Well, then, if it should be fine, wewill simply take a walk with Mother Bunch on the Boulevards. It isnearly three months since she went out with us; and she never goes outwithout us."

  "No, no; go alone, my child. Enjoy your Sunday, 'tis little enough."

  "You know very well, Agricola," said the sempstress, blushing up to theeyes, "that I ought not to go out with you and your mother again."

  "Why not, madame? May I ask, without impropriety, the cause of thisrefusal?" said Agricola gayly.

  The poor girl smiled sadly, and replied, "Because I will not expose youto a quarrel on my account, Agricola."

  "Forgive me," said Agricola, in a tone of sincere grief, and he struckhis forehead vexedly.

  To this Mother Bunch alluded sometimes, but very rarely, for sheobserved punctilious discretion. The girl had gone out with Agricola andhis mother. Such occasions were, indeed, holidays for her. Many days andnights had she toiled hard to procure a decent bonnet and shawl, thatshe might not do discredit to her friends. The five or six days ofholidays, thus spent arm in arm with him whom she adored in secret,formed the sum of her happy days.

  Taking their last walk, a coarse, vulgar man elbowed her so rudelythat the
poor girl could not refrain from a cry of terror, and the manretorted it by saying,-"What are you rolling your hump in my way for,stoopid?"

  Agricola, like his father, had the patience which force and courage giveto the truly brave; but he was extremely quick when it became necessaryto avenge an insult. Irritated at the vulgarity of this man, Agricolaleft his mother's arm to inflict on the brute, who was of his own age,size, and force, two vigorous blows, such as the powerful arm and hugefist of a blacksmith never before inflicted on human face. The villainattempted to return it, and Agricola repeated the correction, to theamusement of the crowd, and the fellow slunk away amidst a deluge ofhisses. This adventure made Mother Bunch say she would not go out withAgricola again, in order to save him any occasion of quarrel. We mayconceive the blacksmith's regret at having thus unwittingly revived thememory of this circumstance,--more painful, alas! for Mother Bunchthan Agricola could imagine, for she loved him passionately, and herinfirmity had been the cause of that quarrel. Notwithstanding hisstrength and resolution, Agricola was childishly sensitive; and,thinking how painful that thought must be to the poor girl, a large tearfilled his eyes, and, holding out his hands, he said, in a brotherlytone, "Forgive my heedlessness! Come, kiss me." And he gave her thin,pale cheeks two hearty kisses.

  The poor girl's lips turned pale at this cordial caress; and her heartbeat so violently that she was obliged to lean against the corner of thetable.

  "Come, you forgive me, do you not?" said Agricola.

  "Yes! yes!" she said, trying to subdue her emotion; "but therecollection of that quarrel pains me--I was so alarmed on your account;if the crowd had sided with that man!"

  "Alas!" said Frances, coming to the sewing-girl's relief, withoutknowing it, "I was never so afraid in all my life!"

  "Oh, mother," rejoined Agricola, trying to change a conversation whichhad now become disagreeable for the sempstress, "for the wife of a horsegrenadier of the Imperial Guard, you have not much courage. Oh, my bravefather; I can't believe he is really coming! The very thought turns metopsy-turvy!"

  "Heaven grant he may come," said Frances, with a sigh.

  "God grant it, mother. He will grant it, I should think. Lord knows, youhave had masses enough said for his return."

  "Agricola, my child," said Frances, interrupting her son, and shakingher head sadly, "do not speak in that way. Besides, you are talking ofyour father."

  "Well, I'm in for it this evening. 'Tis your turn now; positively, I amgrowing stupid, or going crazy. Forgive me, mother! forgive! That's theonly word I can get out to-night. You know that, when I do let out oncertain subjects, it is because I can't help it; for I know well thepain it gives you."

  "You do not offend me, my poor, dear, misguided boy."

  "It comes to the same thing; and there is nothing so bad as to offendone's mother; and, with respect to what I said about father's return, Ido not see that we have any cause to doubt it."

  "But we have not heard from him for four months."

  "You know, mother, in his letter--that is, in the letter which hedictated (for you remember that, with the candor of an old soldier,he told us that, if he could read tolerably well, he could not write);well, in that letter he said we were not to be anxious about him; thathe expected to be in Paris about the end of January, and would send usword, three or four days before, by what road he expected to arrive,that I might go and meet him."

  "True, my child; and February is come, and no news yet."

  "The greater reason why we should wait patiently. But I'll tell youmore: I should not be surprised if our good Gabriel were to come backabout the same time. His last letter from America makes me hope so. Whatpleasure, mother, should all the family be together!"

  "Oh, yes, my child! It would be a happy day for me."

  "And that day will soon come, trust me."

  "Do you remember your father, Agricola?" inquired Mother Bunch.

  "To tell the truth, I remember most his great grenadier's shako andmoustache, which used to frighten me so, that nothing but the red ribbonof his cross of honor, on the white facings of his uniform, and theshining handle of his sabre, could pacify me; could it, mother? But whatis the matter? You are weeping!"

  "Alas! poor Baudoin! What he must suffer at being separated from us athis age--sixty and past! Alas! my child, my heart breaks, when I thinkthat he comes home only to change one kind of poverty for another."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Alas! I earn nothing now."

  "Why, what's become of me? Isn't there a room here for you and for him;and a table for you too? Only, my good mother, since we are talking ofdomestic affairs," added the blacksmith, imparting increased tendernessto his tone, that he might not shock his mother, "when he and Gabrielcome home, you won't want to have any more masses said, and tapersburned for them, will you? Well, that saving will enable father to havetobacco to smoke, and his bottle of wine every day. Then, on Sundays, wewill take a nice dinner at the eating-house."

  A knocking at the door disturbed Agricola.

  "Come in," said he. Instead of doing so, some one half-opened thedoor, and, thrusting in an arm of a pea-green color, made signs to theblacksmith.

  "'Tis old Loriot, the pattern of dyers," said Agricola; "come in, Daddy,no ceremony."

  "Impossible, my lad; I am dripping with dye from head to foot; I shouldcover missus's floor with green."

  "So much the better. It will remind me of the fields I like so much."

  "Without joking, Agricola, I must speak to you immediately."

  "About the spy, eh? Oh, be easy; what's he to us?"

  "No; I think he's gone; at any rate, the fog is so thick I can't seehim. But that's not it--come, come quickly! It is very important," saidthe dyer, with a mysterious look; "and only concerns you."

  "Me, only?" said Agricola, with surprise. "What can it be.

  "Go and see, my child," said Frances.

  "Yes, mother; but the deuce take me if I can make it out."

  And the blacksmith left the room, leaving his mother with Mother Bunch.