The Wandering Jew — Complete
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