Le Juif errant. English

by Eugène Sue

  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, hardlyable to support herself, appeared on the threshold.

  The soldier, Agricola, and Mother Bunch, were plunged in such deepdejection, that neither of them at first perceived the entrance. Francesadvanced two steps into the room, fell upon her knees, clasped herhands together, and said in a weak and humble voice; "My poorhusband--pardon!"

  At these words, Agricola and the work-girl--whose backs were towards thedoor--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 theunfortunate woman.

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

  "No, my child," said Frances, in her mild, firm accents, "I will notrise, till your father has forgiven me. I have wronged him much--now Iknow it."

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

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

  "Why did you not let us know?" added he. "We would have gone to fetchyou. 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 isno wood nor charcoal left."

  "Then pray borrow some of Father Loriot, my dear sister. He is too gooda 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 rosefrom the ground, took the blanket from the bed, and carefully wrappedit about the knees and feet of his mother. Then, again kneeling down, hesaid to her: "Your hands, dear mother!" and, taking those feeble palmsin 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 looksthe greatest tenderness, and paying the most delicate attentions to hispoor, pale, trembling old mother.

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

  "How you both spoil me!" said Frances, trying to smile. "And you tobe 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 thesoldier's hand and pressed it to her tearful eyes. "In prison," said shein a low voice, "I had time to repent."

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

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

  "I have seen Gabriel," said Frances, drying her tears; "he is confinedat home. His superiors have rigorously forbidden his going out. Luckily,they did not prevent his receiving me, for his words and counsels haveopened my eyes to many things. It is from him that I learned how guiltyI 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 fromwickedness. When I saw you in such despair, I suffered almost as muchmyself; but I durst not tell you so, for fear of breaking my oath. I hadresolved to keep it, believing that I did well, believing that it wasmy duty. And yet something told me that it could not be my duty tocause you so much pain. 'Alas, my God! enlighten me!' I exclaimed inmy prison, as I knelt down and prayed, in spite of the mockeries ofthe other women. 'Why should a just and pious work, commanded by myconfessor, the most respectable of men, overwhelm me and mine with somuch misery? 'Have mercy on me, my God, and teach me if I have donewrong without knowing it!' As I prayed with fervor, God heard me, andinspired 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; buthe is also a priest, a martyr--almost a saint. If any one in the worldimitates the charity of our blessed Saviour, it is surely he. When Ileave this prison, I will go and consult him and he will clear up mydoubts.'"

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

  "Ah, poor wife!" said Dagobert, with bitterness; "if you had never hadany confessor but Gabriel!"

  "I thought of it before he went on his journey," said Frances, withsimplicity. "I should have liked to confess to the dear boy--but Ifancied Abbe Dubois would be offended, and that Gabriel would be tooindulgent with regard to my sins.

  "Your sins, poor dear mother?" said Agricola. "As if you ever committedany!"

  "And what did Gabriel tell you?" asked the soldier.

  "Alas, my dear! had I but had such an interview with him sooner! WhatI told him of Abbe Dubois roused his suspicions, and he questioned me,dear child, as to many things of which he had never spoken to me before.Then I opened to him my whole heart, and he did the same to me, andwe both made sad discoveries with regard to persons whom we had alwaysthought very respectable, and who yet had deceived each of us, unknownto the other."

  "How so?"

  "Why, they used to tell him, under the seal of secrecy, things that weresupposed to come from me; and they used to tell me, under the sameseal of secrecy, things that were supposed to come from him. Thus, heconfessed to me, that he did not feel at first any vocation for thepriesthood; but they told him that I should not believe myself safe inthis world or in the next, if he did not take orders, because I feltpersuaded that I could best serve the Lord by giving Him so good aservant; and that yet I had never dared to ask Gabriel himself to giveme this proof of his attachment, though I had taken him from the street,a deserted orphan, and brought him up as my own son, at the cost oflabor and privations. Then, how could it be otherwise? The poor dearchild, thinking he could please me, sacrificed himself. He entered theseminary."

  "Horrible," said Agricola; "'tis an infamous snare, and, for the priestswho were guilty of it, a sacrilegious lie!"

  "During all that time," resumed Frances, "they were holding verydifferent language to me. I was told that Gabriel felt his vocation, butthat he durst not avow it to me, for fear of my being jealous on accountof Agricola, who, being brought up as a workman, would not enjoy thesame advantages as those which the priesthood would secure to Gabriel.So when he asked my permission to enter the seminary dear child!he entered it with regret, but he thought he was making me sohappy!--instead of discouraging this idea, I did all in my power topersuade him to follow it, assuring him that he could not do better, andthat it would occasion me great joy. You understand, I exaggerated, forfear he should think me jealous on account of Agricola."

  "What an odious machination!" said Agricola, in amazement. "They werespeculating in this unworthy manner upon your mutual devotion. ThusGabriel saw the expression of your dearest wish in the almost forcedencouragement given to his resolution."

  "Little by little, however, as Gabriel has the best heart in the world,the vocation really came to him. That was natural enough--he was bornto console those who suffer, and devote himself for the unfortunate.He would never have spoken to me of
the past, had it not been for thismorning's interview. But then I beheld him, who is usually so mild andgentle, become indignant, exasperated, against M. Rodin and anotherperson whom he accuses. He had serious complaints against them already,but these discoveries, he says, will make up the measure."

  At these words of Frances, Dagobert pressed his hand to his forehead, asif to recall something to his memory. For some minutes he had listenedwith surprise, and almost terror, to the account of these secret plots,conducted with such deep and crafty dissimulation.

  Frances continued: "When at last I acknowledged to Gabriel, that by theadvice of Abbe Dubois, my confessor, I had delivered to a stranger thechildren confined to my husband--General Simon's daughters--the dear boyblamed me, though with great regret, not for having wished to instructthe poor orphans in the truths of our holy religion, but for havingacted without the consent of my husband, who alone was answerable beforeGod and man for the charge entrusted to him. Gabriel severely censuredAbbe Dubois' conduct, who had given me, he said, bad and perfidiouscounsels; and then, with the sweetness of an angel, the dear boyconsoled me, and exhorted me to come and tell you all. My poor husband!he would fain have accompanied me, for I had scarcely courage tocome hither, so strongly did I feel the wrong I had done you; but,unfortunately, Gabriel is confined at the seminary by the strict orderof his superiors; he could not come with me, and--"

  Here Dagobert, who seemed much agitated, abruptly interrupted his wife."One word, Frances," said he; "for, in truth, in the midst of so manycares, and black, diabolical plots, one loses one's memory, and the headbegins to wander. Didst not tell me, the day the children disappeared,that Gabriel, when taken in by you, had round his neck a bronze medal,and in his pocket a book filled with papers in a foreign language?"

  "Yes, my dear."

  "And this medal and these papers were afterwards delivered to yourconfessor?"

  "Yes, my dear."

  "And Gabriel never spoke of them since?"

  "Never."

  Agricola, hearing this from his mother, looked at her with surprise,and exclaimed: "Then Gabriel has the same interest as the daughters ofGeneral Simon, or Mdlle. de Cardoville, to be in the Rue Saint-Francoisto-morrow?"

  "Certainly," said Dagobert. "And now do you remember what he said to us,just after my arrival--that, in a few days, he would need our support ina serious matter?"

  "Yes, father."

  "And he is kept a prisoner at his seminary! And he tells your motherthat he has to complain of his superiors! and he asked us for oursupport with so sad and grave an air, that I said to him--"

  "He would speak so, if about to engage in a deadly duel," interruptedAgricola. "True, father! and yet you, who are a good judge of valor,acknowledged that Gabriel's courage was equal to yours. For him so tofear his superiors, the danger must be great indeed."

  "Now that I have heard your mother, I understand it all," said Dagobert."Gabriel is like Rose and Blanche, like Mdlle. de Cardoville, like yourmother, like all of us, perhaps--the victim of a secret conspiracy ofwicked priests. Now that I know their dark machinations, their infernalperseverance, I see," added the soldier, in a whisper, "that it requiresstrength to struggle against them. I had not the least idea of theirpower."

  "You are right, father; for those who are hypocritical and wicked do asmuch harm as those who are good and charitable, like Gabriel, do good.There is no more implacable enemy than a bad priest."

  "I know it, and that's what frightens me; for my poor children arein their hands. But is all lost? Shall I bring myself to give them upwithout an effort? Oh, no, no! I will not show any weakness--and yet,since your mother told us of these diabolical plots, I do not know howit is but I seem less strong, less resolute. What is passing around meappears so terrible. The spiriting away of these children is no longeran isolated fact--it is one of the ramifications of a vast conspiracy,which surrounds and threatens us all. It seems to me as if I and those Ilove walked together in darkness, in the midst of serpents, in the midstof snares that we can neither see nor struggle against. Well! I'llspeak out! I have never feared death--I am not a coward and yet Iconfess--yes, I confess it--these black robes frighten me--"

  Dagobert pronounced these words in so sincere a tone, that his sonstarted, for he shared the same impression. And it was quite natural.Frank, energetic, resolute characters, accustomed to act and fight inthe light of day, never feel but one fear--and that is, to be ensnaredand struck in the dark by enemies that escape their grasp. Thus,Dagobert had encountered death twenty times; and yet, on hearing hiswife's simple revelation of this dark tissue of lies, and treachery, andcrime, the soldier felt a vague sense of fear; and, though nothingwas changed in the conditions of his nocturnal enterprise against theconvent, it now appeared to him in a darker and more dangerous light.

  The silence, which had reigned for some moments, was interrupted byMother Bunch's return. The latter, knowing that the interview betweenDagobert, his wife, and Agricola, ought not have any importunatewitness, knocked lightly at the door, and remained in the passage withFather Loriot.

  "Can we come in, Mme. Frances?" asked the sempstress. "Here is FatherLoriot, bringing some wood."

  "Yes, yes; come in, my good girl," said Agricola, whilst his fatherwiped the cold sweat from his forehead.

  The door opened, and the worthy dyer appeared, with his hands and armsof an amaranthine color; on one side, he carried a basket of wood, andon the other some live coal in a shovel.

  "Good-evening to the company!" said Daddy Loriot. "Thank you for havingthought of me, Mme. Frances. You know that my shop and everything in itare at your service. Neighbors should help one another; that's my motto!You were kind enough, I should think, to my late wife!"

  Then, placing the wood in a corner, and giving the shovel to Agricola,the worthy dyer, guessing from the sorrowful appearance of the differentactors in this scene, that it would be impolite to prolong his visit,added: "You don't want anything else, Mme. Frances?"

  "No, thank you, Father Loriot."

  "Then, good-evening to the company!" said the dyer; and, addressingMother Bunch, he added: "Don't forget the letter for M. Dagobert. Idurstn't touch it for fear of leaving the marks of my four fingers andthumb in amaranthine! But, good evening to the company!" and FatherLoriot went out.

  "M. Dagobert, here is a letter," said Mother Bunch. She set herself tolight the fire in the stove, while Agricola drew his mother's arm-chairto the hearth.

  "See what it is, my boy," said Dagobert to his son; "my head is so heavythat I cannot see clear." Agricola took the letter, which contained onlya few lines, and read it before he looked at the signature.

  "At Sea, December 25th, 1831.

  "I avail myself of a few minutes' communication with a ship bound direct for Europe, to write to you, my old comrade, a few hasty lines, which will reach you probably by way of Havre, before the arrival of my last letters from India. You must by this time be at Paris, with my wife and child--tell them--I am unable to say more --the boat is departing. Only one word; I shall soon be in France. Do not forget the 13th February; the future of my wife and child depends upon it.

  "Adieu, my friend! Believe in my eternal gratitude.

  "SIMON."

  "Agricola--quick! look to your father!" cried the hunchback.

  From the first words of this letter, which present circumstances made socruelly applicable, Dagobert had become deadly pale. Emotion, fatigue,exhaustion, joined to this last blow, made him stagger.

  His son hastened to him, and supported him in his arms. But soon themomentary weakness passed away, and Dagobert, drawing his hand acrosshis brow, raised his tall figure to its full height. Then, whilst hiseye sparkled, his rough countenance took an expression of determinedresolution, and he exclaimed, in wild excitement: "No, no! I will notbe a traitor; I will not be a coward. The black robes shall not frightenme; and, this night, Rose and Blanche Simon shall be free!"