The Wandering Jew — Complete
"Yes, father, you are right, be at ease dear mother! The judges will see
the difference between rascals who scale walls in order to rob, and
an old soldier and his son who, at peril of their liberty, their life,
their honor, have sought only to deliver unhappy victims."
"And if this language should not be heard," resumed Dagobert, "so much
the worse for them! It will not be your son, or husband, who will be
dishonored in the eyes of honest people. If they send us to the galleys,
and we have courage to survive--the young and the old convict will wear
their chains proudly--and the renegade marquis, the traitor priest,
will bear more shame than we. So, forge without fear, my boy! There are
things which the galleys themselves cannot disgrace--our good conscience
and our honor! But now," he added, "two words with my good Mother Bunch.
It grows late, and time presses. On entering the garden, did you remark
if the windows of the convent were far from the ground?"
"No, not very far, M. Dagobert--particularly on that side which is
opposite to the madhouse, where Mdlle. de Cardoville is confined."
"How did you manage to speak to that young lady?"
"She was on the other side of an open paling, which separates the two
gardens."
"Excellent!" said Agricola, as he continued to hammer the iron: "we can
easily pass from one garden to the other. The madhouse may perhaps
be the readier way out. Unfortunately, you do not know, Mdlle. de
Cardoville's chamber."
"Yes, I do," returned the work-girl, recollecting herself. "She is
lodged in one of the wings, and there is a shade over her window,
painted like canvas, with blue and white stripes."
"Good! I shall not forget that."
"And can you form no guess as to where are the rooms of my poor
children?" said Dagobert.
After a moment's reflection, Mother Bunch answered, "They are opposite
to the chamber occupied by Mdlle. de Cardoville, for she makes signs
to them from her window: and I now remember she told me, that their two
rooms are on different stories, one on the ground-floor, and the other
up one pair of stairs."
"Are these windows grated?" asked the smith.
"I do not know."
"Never mind, my good girl: with these indications we shall do very
well," said Dagobert. "For the rest, I have my plans."
"Some water, my little sister," said Agricola, "that I may cool my
iron." Then addressing his father: "Will this hook do?"
"Yes, my boy; as soon as it is cold we will fasten the cord."
For some time, Frances Baudoin had remained upon her knees, praying with
fervor. She implored Heaven to have pity on Agricola and Dagobert,
who, in their ignorance, were about to commit a great crime; and she
entreated that the celestial vengeance might fall upon her only, as she
alone had been the cause of the fatal resolution of her son and husband.
Dagobert and Agricola finished their preparations in silence. They
were both very pale, and solemnly grave. They felt all the danger of so
desperate an enterprise.
The clock at Saint-Mery's struck ten. The sound of the bell was faint,
and almost drowned by the lashing of the wind and rain, which had not
ceased for a moment.
"Ten o'clock!" said Dagobert, with a start. "There is not a minute to
lose. Take the sack, Agricola."
"Yes, father."
As he went to fetch the sack, Agricola approached Mother Bunch, who was
hardly able to sustain herself, and said to her in a rapid whisper: "If
we are not here to-morrow, take care of my mother. Go to M. Hardy, who
will perhaps have returned from his journey. Courage, my sister! embrace
me. I leave poor mother to you." The smith, deeply affected, pressed the
almost fainting girl in his arms.
"Come, old Spoil-sport," said Dagobert: "you shall be our scout."
Approaching his wife, who, just risen from the ground, was clasping her
son's head to her bosom, and covering it with tears and kisses, he said
to her, with a semblance of calmness and serenity: "Come, my dear wife,
be reasonable! Make us a good fire. In two or three hours we will bring
home the two poor children, and a fine young lady. Kiss me! that will
bring me luck."
Frances threw herself on her husband's neck, without uttering a word.
This mute despair, mingled with convulsive sobs, was heart-rending.
Dagobert was obliged to tear himself from his wife's arms, and striving
to conceal his emotion, he said to his son, in an agitated voice:
"Let us go--she unmans me. Take care of her, my good Mother Bunch.
Agricola--come!"
The soldier slipped the pistols into the pocket of his great coat, and
rushed towards the door, followed by Spoil-sport.
"My son, let me embrace you once more--alas! it is perhaps for the last
time!" cried the unfortunate mother, incapable of rising, but stretching
out her arms to Agricola. "Forgive me! it is all my fault."
The smith turned back, mingled his tears with those of his mother--for
he also wept--and murmured, in a stifled voice: "Adieu, dear mother! Be
comforted. We shall soon meet again."
Then, escaping from the embrace, he joined his father upon the stairs.
Frances Baudoin heaved a long sigh, and fell almost lifeless into the
needlewoman's arms.
Dagobert and Agricola left the Rue Brise-Miche in the height of
the storm, and hastened with great strides towards the Boulevard de
l'Hopital, followed by the dog.
CHAPTER XIII. BURGLARY.
Half-past eleven had just struck, when Dagobert and his son arrived on
the Boulevard de l'Hopital.
The wind blew violently, and the rain fell down in torrents, but
notwithstanding the thickness of the watery clouds, it was tolerably
light, thanks to the late rising of the moon. The tall, dark trees, and
the white walls of the convent garden, were distinguishable in the midst
of the pale glimmer. Afar off, a street lamp, acted on by the wind, with
its red lights hardly visible through the mist and rain, swung backwards
and forwards over the dirty causeway of the solitary boulevard.
At rare intervals, they heard, at a very great distance, the rattle and
rumble of a coach, returning home late; then all was again silent.
Since their departure from the Rue Brise-Miche, Dagobert and his son had
hardly exchanged a word. The design of these two brave men was noble
and generous, and yet, resolute but pensive, they glided through the
darkness like bandits, at the hour of nocturnal crimes.
Agricola carried on his shoulders the sack containing the cord, the
hook, and the iron bar; Dagobert leaned upon the arm of his son, and
Spoil sport followed his master.
"The bench, where we sat down, must be close by," said Dagobert,
stopping.
"Yes," said Agricola, looking around; "here it is, father."
"It is oily half-past eleven--we must wait for midnight," resumed
Dagobert. "Let us be seated for an instant, to rest ourselves, and
decide upon our plan."
After a moment's silence, the soldier took his son's hands between his
own, and thus continued: "Agricola, my child--it is yet time. Let me
go alone, I entreat you. I shall know very well how to get through the
business; but the nearer the moment comes, the more I fear to drag you
into this dangerous enterprise."
"And the nearer the moment comes, father, the more I feel I may be
of some use; but, be it good or bad, I will share the fortune of your
adventure. Our object is praiseworthy; it is a debt of honor that you
have to pay, and I will take one half of it. Do not fancy that I will
now draw back. And so, dear father, let us think of our plan of action."
"Then you will come?" said Dagobert, stifling a sigh.
"We must do everything," proceeded Agricola, "to secure success. You
have already noticed the little garden-door, near the angle of the
wall--that is excellent."
"We shall get by that way into the garden, and look immediately for the
open paling."
"Yes; for on one side of this paling is the wing inhabited by Mdlle.
de Cardoville, and on the other that part of the convent in which the
general's daughters are confined."
At this moment, Spoil-sport, who was crouching at Dagobert's feet, rose
suddenly, and pricked up his ears, as if to listen.
"One would think that Spoil-sport heard something," said Agricola. They
listened--but heard only the wind, sounding through the tall trees of
the boulevard.
"Now I think of it, father--when the garden-door is once open, shall we
take Spoil-sport with us?"
"Yes; for if there is a watch-dog, he will settle him. And then he will
give us notice of the approach of those who go the rounds. Besides, he
is so intelligent, so attached to Rose and Blanche, that (who knows?) he
may help to discover the place where they are. Twenty times I have seen
him find them in the woods, by the most extraordinary instinct."
A slow and solemn knell here rose above the noise of the wind: it was
the first stroke of twelve.
That note seemed to echo mournfully through the souls of Agricola and
his father. Mute with emotion, they shuddered, and by a spontaneous
movement, each grasped the hand of the other. In spite of themselves,
their hearts kept time to every stroke of the clock, as each successive
vibration was prolonged through the gloomy silence of the night.
At the last strobe, Dagobert said to his son, in a firm voice: "It is
midnight. Shake hands, and let us forward!"
The moment was decisive and solemn. "Now, father," said Agricola, "we
will act with as much craft and daring as thieves going to pillage a
strong box."
So saying, the smith took from the sack the cord and hook; Dagobert
armed himself with the iron bar, and both advanced cautiously, following
the wall in the direction of the little door, situated not far from the
angle formed by the street and the boulevard. They stopped from time to
time, to listen attentively, trying to distinguish those noises which
were not caused either by the high wind or the rain.
It continued light enough for them to be able to see surrounding
objects, and the smith and the soldier soon gained the little door,
which appeared much decayed, and not very strong.
"Good!" said Agricola to his father. "It will yield at one blow."
The smith was about to apply his shoulder vigorously to the door, when
Spoil-sport growled hoarsely, and made a "point." Dagobert silenced the
dog with a word, and grasping his son's arm, said to him in a whisper:
"Do not stir. The dog has scented some one in the garden."
Agricola and his father remained for some minutes motionless, holding
their breath and listening. The dog, in obedience to his master, no
longer growled, but his uneasiness and agitation were displayed more and
more. Yet they heard nothing.
"The dog must have been deceived, father," whispered Agricola.
"I am sure of the contrary. Do not move."
After some seconds of expectation, Spoil-sport crouched down abruptly,
and pushed his nose as far as possible under the door, snuffling up the
air.
"They are coming," said Dagobert hastily, to his son.
"Let us draw off a little distance," replied Agricola.
"No," said his father; "we must listen. It will be time to retire, if
they open the door. Here, Spoil-sport! down!"
The dog obeyed, and withdrawing from the door, crouched down at the feet
of his master. Some seconds after, they heard a sort of splashing on the
damp ground, caused by heavy footsteps in puddles of water, and then the
sound of words, which carried away by the wind, did not reach distinctly
the ears of the soldier and the smith.
"They are the people of whom Mother Bunch told us, going their round,"
said Agricola to his father.
"So much the better. There will be an interval before they come round
again, and we shall have some two hours before us, without interruption.
Our affair is all right now."
By degrees, the sound of the footsteps became less and less distinct,