The Wandering Jew — Complete
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!"
"Ah, poor wife!" said Dagobert, with bitterness; "if you had never had
any confessor but Gabriel!"
"I thought of it before he went on his journey," said Frances, with
simplicity. "I should have liked to confess to the dear boy--but I
fancied Abbe Dubois would be offended, and that Gabriel would be too
indulgent with regard to my sins.
"Your sins, poor dear mother?" said Agricola. "As if you ever committed
any!"
"And what did Gabriel tell you?" asked the soldier.
"Alas, my dear! had I but had such an interview with him sooner! What
I 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, and
we both made sad discoveries with regard to persons whom we had always
thought very respectable, and who yet had deceived each of us, unknown
to the other."
"How so?"
"Why, they used to tell him, under the seal of secrecy, things that were
supposed to come from me; and they used to tell me, under the same
seal of secrecy, things that were supposed to come from him. Thus, he
confessed to me, that he did not feel at first any vocation for the
priesthood; but they told him that I should not believe myself safe in
this world or in the next, if he did not take orders, because I felt
persuaded that I could best serve the Lord by giving Him so good a
servant; and that yet I had never dared to ask Gabriel himself to give
me 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 of
labor and privations. Then, how could it be otherwise? The poor dear
child, thinking he could please me, sacrificed himself. He entered the
seminary."
"Horrible," said Agricola; "'tis an infamous snare, and, for the priests
who were guilty of it, a sacrilegious lie!"
"During all that time," resumed Frances, "they were holding very
different language to me. I was told that Gabriel felt his vocation, but
that he durst not avow it to me, for fear of my being jealous on account
of Agricola, who, being brought up as a workman, would not enjoy the
same 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 so
happy!--instead of discouraging this idea, I did all in my power to
persuade him to follow it, assuring him that he could not do better, and
that it would occasion me great joy. You understand, I exaggerated, for
fear he should think me jealous on account of Agricola."
"What an odious machination!" said Agricola, in amazement. "They were
speculating in this unworthy manner upon your mutual devotion. Thus
Gabriel saw the expression of your dearest wish in the almost forced
encouragement given to his resolution."