The Wandering Jew — Complete
with suffering, grief, misery; her eyes, red with weeping, were fixed on
her sister with an expression of mournful tenderness.
"I have what we want, sister," said Cephyse, in a low, deep voice; "in
this basket there is wherewith to finish our misery."
Then, showing to Mother Bunch the articles she had just placed on the
floor, she added: "For the first time in my life, I have been a thief.
It made me ashamed and frightened; I was never intended for that or
worse. It is a pity." added she, with a sardonic smile.
After a moment's silence, the hunchback said to her sister, in a heart
rending tone: "Cephyse--my dear Cephyse--are you quite determined to
die?"
"How should I hesitate?" answered Cephyse, in a firm voice. "Come,
sister, let us once more make our reckoning. If even I could forget my
shame, and Jacques' contempt in his last moments, what would remain to
me? Two courses only: first, to be honest, and work for my living. But
you know that, in spite of the best will in the world, work will often
fail, as it has failed for the last few days, and, even when I got it, I
would have to live on four to five francs a week. Live? that is to say,
die by inches. I know that already, and I prefer dying at once. The
other course would be to live a life of infamy--and that I will not do.
Frankly, sister, between frightful misery, infamy, or death, can the
choice be doubtful? Answer me!"
Then, without giving Mother Bunch time to speak, Cephyse added, in an
abrupt tone: "Besides, what is the good of discussing it? I have made up
my mind, and nothing shall prevent my purpose, since all that you, dear
sister, could obtain from me, was a delay of a few days, to see if the
cholera would not save us the trouble. To please you I consented; the
cholera has come, killed every one else in the house, but left us. You
see, it is better to do one's own business," added she, again smiling
bitterly. Then she resumed: "Besides, dear sister, you also wish to
finish with life."
"It is true, Cephyse," answered the sempstress, who seemed very much
depressed; "but alone--one has only to answer for one's self--and to die
with you," added she, shuddering, "appears like being an accomplice in
your death."
"Do you wish, then, to make an end of it, I in one place, you in
another?--that would be agreeable!" said Cephyse, displaying in that
terrible moment the sort of bitter and despairing irony which is more
frequent than may be imagined in the midst of mortal anguish.
"Oh, no, no!" said the other in alarm, "not alone--I will not die
alone!"
"Do you not see, dear sister, we are right not to part? And yet," added
Cephyse, in a voice of emotion, "my heart almost breaks sometimes, to
think that you will die like me."
"How selfish!" said the hunchback, with a faint smile. "What reasons
have I to love life? What void shall I leave behind me?"
"But you are a martyr, sister," resumed Cephyse. "The priests talk of
saints! Is there one of them so good as you? And yet you are about to
die like me, who have always been idle, careless, sinful--while you were
so hardworking, so devoted to all who suffered. What should I say?
You were an angel on the earth; and yet you will die like me, who have
fallen as low as a woman can fall," added the unfortunate, casting down
her eyes.
"It is strange," answered Mother Bunch, thoughtfully. "Starting from the
same point, we have followed different roads, and yet we have reached
the same goal--disgust of life. For you, my poor sister, but a few days
ago, life was so fair, so full of pleasure and of youth; and now it is
equally heavy with us both. After all, I have followed to the end what
was my duty," added she, mildly. "Agricola no longer needs me. He is
married; he loves, and is beloved; his happiness is secured. Mdlle. de
Cardoville wants for nothing. Fair, rich, prosperous--what could a poor
creature like myself do for her? Those who have been kind to me are
happy. What prevents my going now to my rest? I am so weary!"
"Poor sister!" said Cephyse, with touching emotion, which seemed to
expand her contracted features; "when I think that, without informing
me, and in spite of your resolution never to see that generous young
lady, who protected you, you yet had the courage to drag yourself to
her house, dying with fatigue and want, to try to interest her in my
fate--yes, dying, for your strength failed on the Champs-Elysees."
"And when I was able to reach the mansion, Mdlle. de Cardoville was
unfortunately absent--very unfortunately!" repeated the hunchback, as
she looked at Cephyse with anguish; "for the next day, seeing that our
last resource had failed us, thinking more of me than of yourself, and
determined at any price to procure us bread--"
She could not finish. She buried her face in her hands, and shuddered.
"Well, I did as so many other hapless women have done when work fails or
wages do not suffice, and hunger becomes too pressing," replied Cephyse,
in a broken voice; "only that, unlike so many others, instead of living
on my shame, I shall die of it."
"Alas! this terrible shame which kills you, my poor Cephyse, because you
have a heart, would have been averted, had I seen Mdlle. de Cardoville,
or had she but answered the letter which I asked leave to write to her
at the porter's lodge. But her silence proves to me that she is justly
hurt at my abrupt departure from her house. I can understand it; she
believes me guilty of the blackest ingratitude--for she must have been
greatly offended not to have deigned to answer me--and therefore I had
not the courage to write a second time. It would have been useless, I am
sure; for, good and just as she is, her refusals are inexorable when she
believes them deserved. And besides, for what good? It was too late; you
had resolved to die!"
"Oh, yes, quite resolved: for my infamy was gnawing at my heart. Jacques
had died in my arms despising me; and I loved him--mark me, sister,"
added Cephyse, with passionate enthusiasm, "I loved him as we love only
once in life!"
"Let our fate be accomplished, then!" said Mother Bunch with a pensive
air.
"But you have never told me, sister, the cause of your departure from
Mdlle. de Cardoville's," resumed Cephyse, after a moment's silence.
"It will be the only secret that I shall take with me, dear Cephyse,"
said the other, casting down her eyes. And she thought, with bitter joy,
that she would soon be delivered from the fear which had poisoned the
last days of her sad life--the fear of meeting Agricola, informed of the
fatal and ridiculous love she felt for him.
For, it must be said, this fatal and despairing love was one of
the causes of the suicide of the unfortunate creature. Since the
disappearance of her journal, she believed that the blacksmith knew
the melancholy secret contained in its sad pages. She doubted not
the generosity and good heart of Agricola; but she had such doubts of
herself, she was so ashamed of this passion, however pure and
noble, that, even in the extremity to which Cephyse and herself were
reduced--wanting work, wanting bread--no power on earth could have
induced her to meet Agricola, in an attempt to ask him for assistance.
Doubtless, she would have taken another view of the subject if her mind
had not been obscured by that sort of dizziness to which the firmest
characters are exposed when their misfortunes surpass all bounds.
Misery, hunger, the influence, almost contagious in such a moment, of
the suicidal ideas of Cephyse, and weariness of a life so long devoted
to pain and mortification, gave the last blow to the sewing-girl's
reason. After long struggling against the fatal design of her sister,
the poor, dejected, broken-hearted creature finished by determining to
share Cephyse's fate, and seek in death the end of so many evils.
"Of what are you thinking, sister?" said Cephyse, astonished at the long
silence. The other replied, trembling: "I think of that which made me
leave Mdlle. de Cardoville so abruptly, and appear so ungrateful in her
eyes. May the fatality which drove me from her house have made no other
victims! may my devoted service, however obscure and powerless, never be
missed by her, who extended her noble hand to the poor sempstress,
and deigned to call me sister! May she be happy--oh, ever happy!" said
Mother Bunch, clasping her hands with the ardor of a sincere invocation.
"That is noble, sister--such a wish in such a moment!" said Cephyse.
"Oh," said her sister, with energy, "I loved, I admired that marvel
of genius, and heart, and ideal beauty--I viewed her with pious
respect--for never was the power of the Divinity revealed in a more
adorable and purer creation. At least one of my last thoughts will have
been of her."
"Yes, you will have loved and respected your generous patroness to the
last."
"To the last!" said the poor girl, after a moment's silence. "It is
true--you are right--it will soon be the last!--in a few moments, all
will be finished. See how calmly we can talk of that which frightens so
many others!"
"Sister, we are calm because we are resolved."
"Quite resolved, Cephyse," said the hunchback, casting once more a deep
and penetrating glance upon her sister.
"Oh, yes, if you are only as determined as I am."
"Be satisfied; if I put off from day to day the final moment," answered
the sempstress, "it was because I wished to give you time to reflect. As
for me--"
She did not finish, but she shook her head with an air of the utmost
despondency.
"Well, sister, let us kiss each other," said Cephyse; "and, courage!"
The hunchback rose, and threw herself into her sister's arms. They held
one another fast in a long embrace. There followed a few seconds of deep
and solemn silence, only interrupted by the sobs of the sisters, for now
they had begun to weep.
"Oh, heaven! to love each other so, and to part forever!" said Cephyse.
"It is a cruel fate."
"To part?" cried Mother Bunch, and her pale, mild countenance, bathed
in tears, was suddenly illumined with a ray of divine hope; "to
part, sister? oh, no! What makes me so calm is the deep and certain
expectation, which I feel here at my heart, of that better world where a
better life awaits us. God, so great, so merciful, so prodigal of good,
cannot destine His creatures to be forever miserable. Selfish men may
pervert His benevolent designs, and reduce their brethren to a state of
suffering and despair. Let us pity the wicked and leave them! Come up on
high, sister; men are nothing there, where God is all. We shall do well
there. Let us depart, for it is late."
So saying, she pointed to the ruddy beams of the setting sun, which
began to shine upon the window.
Carried away by the religious enthusiasm of her sister, whose
countenance, transfigured, as it were, by the hope of an approaching
deliverance, gleamed brightly in the reflected sunset, Cephyse took her
hands, and, looking at her with deep emotion, exclaimed, "Oh, sister!
how beautiful you look now!"
"Then my beauty comes rather late in the day," said Mother Bunch, with a
sad smile.
"No, sister; for you appear so happy, that the last scruples I had upon
your account are quite gone."
"Then let us make haste," said the hunchback, as she pointed to the
chafing-dish.
"Be satisfied, sister--it will not be long," said Cephyse. And she took
the chafing-dish full of charcoal, which she had placed in a corner of
the garret, and brought it out into the middle of the room.
"Do you know how to manage it?" asked the sewing-girl approaching.
"Oh! it is very simple," answered Cephyse; "we have only to close the
door and window, and light the charcoal."
"Yes, sister; but I think I have heard that every opening must be well
stopped, so as to admit no current of air."